


Swimming with the Sidhe

by gwyllion



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Calming Manatee, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one likes a story that ends with a hero’s death and broken promises.  As Merlin watches the wooden boat drift away with Arthur, he regrets that he ever believed a word that Kilgharrah told him about the bright future Arthur would bring to Albion.  Fortunately, he is greeted by a new mythical advisor, the Calming Manatee of the <a href="http://calmingmanatee.tumblr.com/tagged/calming-manatee">Calming Manatee meme</a>.  Only this docile sea creature can help Merlin through this difficult stage in his life so he learns to love himself and gets his happy ending with Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Three days had passed before Merlin felt the pangs of hunger. An ache throbbed deep in his gut, surpassing the pain in his heart for the first time. He lay curled on the shore beside the lake, where Percival had left him a satchel containing a half loaf of bread, two apples, and some strips of dried venison. He welcomed the needling intrusion in his belly, glad that it directed his sorrowful thoughts away from the expanse of empty waves that stretched toward the tower.

For the first time in three days, he took his eyes off the water.

The dirt had stained black the space beneath Merlin’s fingernails. In his grief, he had sought to inflict punishment upon the earth, clawing through the soil dampened by his tears while he wailed. His clothing reeked of sweat borne in battle and blood that ran from the deep wounds of those he once considered friends. He reached into the bag and grabbed the first food his fingers touched. Without looking, he tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and returned his gaze to the lake.

A misty fog obscured the sun, making this morning as miserable as the last. The meadow had been silent, as if in respect for what had transpired there only three days earlier. No bird sang its morning song, no insect buzzed as it flitted from flower to flower, no breeze ruffled the treetops. The silence that prevailed added to the emptiness Merlin felt in his chest, the horrible failure that could never be rectified, the lifeless hollow that could never be filled.

The damp air hung over the lake, a mist shielding the tower from Merlin’s view, rain threatening. Shadows among the waves played tricks on Merlin’s mind. They caught his eyes, making them dart from side to side, making him see things that were not there, no matter how hard he wished for them to be. What he wouldn’t give for the sight of a wooden boat carrying Arthur whole again back to the shore.

Merlin chewed the mouthful of bread and swallowed with a throat scraped raw from weeping. 

Everyone in the kingdom would know the news by now. The king was dead. Percival had begged Merlin to go with him back to Camelot. He tugged Merlin’s arm, insisting that his horse wouldn’t be affected by the addition of Merlin’s slight frame to his load. But Merlin refused, becoming incensed by the thought of returning to the court of the kingdom he called home for ten years. How could he leave, when somewhere in the mist Arthur lay still on his bier? How could Merlin abandon the man whose destiny relied on Merlin’s success in keeping him from harm—whose destiny would unify the lands and bring peace to Albion?

He couldn’t yet bring himself to believe that Kilgharrah’s words had all been lies.

Merlin forgot the pain of hunger. He sat and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“I swore to protect you with my life, or die at your side,” he sobbed to the silent lake.

He had promised Arthur this more than once, when the day’s battle had beaten a path to their doorstep. Yet Merlin lived while Arthur lay still, his eyes rolled back into his head. Merlin wanted nothing more than for the Sidhe to heal Arthur’s wounds, to breathe life back into the lungs that had taken their last breath. Gaius promised there was a chance, but they had been too late.

Merlin had re-lived that horrible moment a thousand times in the hours and days that had passed, yet nothing had changed. He ached for the sunlight to stream through his window, waking him from the horrible nightmare where his worst fears had come true. But no bright sun welcomed him awake, only the bitter breeze that brought the sting of cold from the lake to his tear-stained cheeks.

The waves lapped the shoreline, teasing Merlin with their liveliness.

If only Arthur had been granted a chance to live. Arthur, who had always been so brave in battle. Arthur, whose love for Camelot and for his subjects outweighed his concerns for his own safety and his own life. Arthur, who Merlin had always saved from doom. Why not now? What harsh fates would decree that Arthur’s hard-fought and newly-won compassion toward Merlin and his magic should go so unrewarded?

Merlin’s throat ached from trying to hold back the fit of sobbing once it began. He supposed he should have more control over himself, but what did it matter? Three days had passed with no one to hear him, no one to listen to his tears as he examined each memory of the things Arthur had said to him during their journey to the lake at Avalon where he should have been healed.

He cherished each remembered phrase as if it were the most precious thing Arthur had ever said to him.

“You told me that you wanted _me_ to always be _me,”_ Merlin whispered through dry cracked lips, remembering aloud more of Arthur’s words to keep them from melting into the haze of his memory.

He let out a gasp at the irony. How could he even begin to be _himself,_ when everything he had done from the time he left Ealdor had been for the purpose of keeping Arthur safe—to ensure that Arthur ascended the throne and became the greatest king that Albion had ever known? How could he be _himself_ when he had futilely given Arthur’s mortal body over to the care of the Sidhe whose source of power lay somewhere in this wretched lake?

He would stay. Merlin could not bear to leave his king, whether dead or alive.

If it meant that Merlin would rot in the dirt on the shore like a withered apple, cast off and forgotten by everyone, so be it.

Merlin dropped his hand to the cool water, touching the surface with his fingertips.

He’d miss Arthur for each of the hours of waiting that he had ahead of him. He’d miss their foolish banter that made an outsider wonder which man was the servant and which was truly the king. He’d miss the stolen glances that seemed to become even more furtive after Arthur married Gwen, the brush of his fingers against Arthur’s skin when he dressed him for the day, Arthur’s eyes that always greeted him with a gaze that seemed to come from the bluest ocean, welcoming, calming, enveloping him in something that was like a kind of love, only more keen, more permanent. Two sides of the same coin.

What Merlin wouldn’t give to be called an idiot again by the voice of the man he loved best.

He mustered a tiny tendril of powerful magic from within his veins and sent it upon the water in hopes that Arthur might be able to feel the pull of Merlin’s longing for his return, to know the heaviness of his heart.

The beads of golden magicglow skittered beneath the undulating waves.

“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, the name falling from his lips like a prayer to the gods.

Merlin let his magic flow from his fingertips into the water. He choked back a sob as he watched the liquid magic flare gold on the surface of the lake, the swirls and sparkles of his power dancing in a pattern that was not unlike the finest jewellery carved by the most skilled craftsmen.

But what use was it to have such magic now? His father told him that he was a son of the earth, the sea, the sky, that he was born of magic, and that he was magic itself. What good was it to possess the power to control the winds, the tides, the earth, when he had no purpose for his magic to fulfil?

A tear escaped the corner of his eye and splashed into the lake. He sniffled, surprised that he still had tears that were left unshed. Three days. He marvelled at this with a sharp exhale. His breath carried across the water and was joined by another breath that danced on the rippling waves.

 _“Some days, all you can do is breathe,”_ a whisper rose from the glittering magic that skimmed the lake.

Merlin drew his hand back from the water, sprinkling himself with the droplets that flew from his fingers.

 _“And that’s okay.”_ the voice said.

“Who’s there?” Merlin cried, leaping to his feet. “Arthur, is it you?”

In an instant, he remembered the time when Freya appeared to him in the scry of the waters given to him by the Fisher King. Like a freshly lit torch, the hope surged through him that Arthur would return to him as well.

“Where are you?” he asked as he gazed onto the water, still as murky and colourless as the day when he set Arthur adrift to his final rest.

Seeing nothing, Merlin knelt on the muddy shore. With his dirty fingertips dipped into the water, the magic seemed to calm the waves that crossed the lake, from the obscure tower to the shore where Merlin watched. Just beneath the surface of the water, the golden light of Merlin’s magic glowed and leaped, spraying splashes of cold water into the air on this misty autumn day.

“Show yourself,” Merlin demanded harshly, before thinking better of it. What if it wasn’t Arthur? In his excitement, Merlin had no idea who he was ordering so decisively. If it was the Sidhe, Merlin hoped that the lake spirits had forgotten about how he prevented them from gaining the throne of Camelot many years earlier when Elena and Arthur had been promised to each other. He didn’t know if the Sidhe would have any respect for the Emrys who the Druids embraced, or whether he should be falling over himself in reverence for the Sidhe’s healing abilities that they might use to help restore Arthur to life—if such a thing was still possible. Perhaps the Sidhe could forgive him for killing Sophia and Aulfric. He scolded himself for risking Arthur’s future by speaking so sternly to the lake creatures from whom he might need mercy.

Merlin shifted forward, plunging both hands into the chilly water. With the surface stilled by magic, Merlin finally caught a glimpse of _something_ that moved slowly beneath the gentled waves.

It wasn’t Arthur.

At first, he thought that he saw a fish of some sort, swimming just below the surface, but he had never seen a fish as large as this one. The creature was nearly as wide as it was long. A bright glow the colour of summer bluebells followed its movements as it swam languorously through the water, illuminated by the golden sparks from Merlin’s fingertips that seemed to turn the water green like the reeds that grew here after the winter’s ice had melted.

“You’re not the Sidhe,” Merlin said, a new wave of disappointment crashing through him, extinguishing the spark of hope that had flared for a moment.

The creature’s head broke the surface of the water, but its body remained beneath it, bobbing up and down almost imperceptibly in the murky depths.

“No, I am not the Sidhe. I am a manatee and I love you,” the creature replied calmly. Its voice rose above the lake and softly reached Merlin’s ears.

Merlin snorted. His boots sunk into the mud at the shoreline. He had communicated with the great dragon and all manner of faerie folk, but never such a ridiculously presumptuous creature from the depths. What could possibly have gotten into this creature’s head to have him declare that he loved Merlin?

It was absurd.

Merlin became sceptical about the days he spent collapsed at the lakeside. Perhaps he had lost the power to think rationally and his imagination had taken over to compensate for his grief at Arthur’s loss. He wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Another mythic creature is the last thing I need,” Merlin said with a huff, taking in the whiskered face and the dark eyes that gazed at him imploringly. If he was a less peaceful man, he’d search the shore for a rock to throw at the creature in hopes of driving it away. He had no patience for anything that would distract him from grieving for his king, least of all this fat and foolish blob from the depths.

“I’m going to stay right here,” the manatee said. It leaned to the side and let one of its two paddle-like arms rise out of the water. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here to listen. You look like you could use a friend.”

“I don’t need you to listen,” Merlin shouted, his brow furrowed. “And I’ve brought death to my only friend.”

The manatee seemed to sigh before it used its fat hind flipper to manoeuvre closer to the shore.

“I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right Merlin, but I know that it won’t be for a long time,” the manatee said placidly.

“What’s this? How do you know my name?” Merlin asked, although he couldn’t care less about the answer.

“I know many things about you,” the manatee said. “But the only thing I have to offer you is my companionship. If you ever need my smile, my hug, my shoulder to cry on, it’s yours. I know it doesn’t help much, but I hope it helps a little.”

“Well, it doesn’t,” Merlin said.

The creature’s patronizing tone grated on Merlin’s nerves. If he had to listen to it for one more instant, he’d go mad. He dug a toe into the mud and kicked a clump of dirt into the water. “Go away and leave me to my sorrow. I’ve had enough of listening to advice from beasts of the sky and I’ll heed the advice from a beast of the sea even less,” he shouted.

Merlin watched the creature dip its head beneath the waves and swim toward the tower.

“Haven’t I borne enough grief for one span of days?” Merlin muttered to himself.

Merlin stepped back toward the patch of mud that had become his bed for the past three nights and snatched the parcel of food from the ground. He was grateful that Percival had thought to leave him something to fill his belly. After all, what if the Sidhe could use their powers to help restore Arthur’s life, even though the time had passed when he still breathed with life? And what if the Sidhe required Merlin to remain waiting by the lake while they did their work? What if some unspoken covenant determined that Merlin should remain near, the one side of the coin could not be separated from its other half?

He reached into the bag and pulled out an apple and looked at it thoughtfully.

Perhaps the manatee served as some kind of messenger from the Sidhe. Maybe he shouldn’t have scolded it so harshly.

Merlin took a bite.

Percival had remained with Merlin for the first night by the lake. He told Merlin the news of Gwaine’s death. Merlin thought it would be impossible for his heart to twist and suffer any more than it already had on that day. Despite his own grief, Percival accepted the task of informing the court that Arthur was dead, that the magic Merlin had hoped would save the king had not been secured in time. Gwen would rule over Camelot in her husband’s place. Merlin had seen Arthur bestow his seal upon Gwen, pressing the delicate piece of metal into Gaius’s hands when he thought Merlin wasn’t looking.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed. Had it already been three whole days since he had been alive? 

The fresh wound of Merlin’s loss opened again with the memory of Arthur making his final request of Gaius, the man who had tended to him in sickness and in injury since he was a boy. It was a wise decision, for who knew what disarray Camelot would fall into without the guidance of a strong ruler? If anyone would know how to gain the support of Camelot’s people and its army of knights, it would be Gwen. Although Merlin was pleased with Arthur’s decision, he knew it meant that he could never return to Camelot. Gwen would be able to rely on the knights’ loyalty to her, just as they respected Arthur, but they’d hate Merlin for his failure to save him.

He couldn’t blame them. It was his fault that Arthur was dead. Even if Merlin did return to Camelot, he’d only do so to bid Gaius goodbye. He wouldn’t dare stay for long. Everyone would blame him for the loss of their beloved king. Merlin wouldn’t be welcome in Camelot again, even if he could stave off his sorrow long enough to glimpse for one last time the castle’s gleaming turrets and crimson flags as they reached for a blue sky.

Merlin found a dry patch of grass by the lakeside and sat, laying the satchel of food between his knees.

He couldn’t go back. Besides, he’d be better off if he stayed here and waited by the lake in case Arthur returned as Kilgharrah had promised. The mighty dragon had prophesized so many things in the years since Merlin arrived at Camelot and freed the beast from its imprisonment beneath the citadel. Merlin had believed him each time he promised that a bright future would come to Albion. The promise of glory was etched more firmly in the stone of history each time Merlin saved Arthur’s life so that the kingdom prospered in peace, its allies strong and its enemies respectful of Arthur’s rule.

Kilgharrah said so.

But lately, the dragon had grown tired. Merlin noticed weeks earlier when Kilgharrah could barely fly with his weakened wings, wracked with age. Since that day, he had come to think of him as dead. It was only when he was out of his mind with despair that he called him out of habit, never thinking that the dragon would be able to fly to his aid. In horror, Merlin realized his error. The discovery that Kilgharrah was still alive and capable of flying only added to the guilt that Merlin heaped across his own shoulders.

Arthur would still be alive, if he had acted sooner.

“I think you would like to have seen more of what magic can do,” Merlin whispered toward the water.

He had finally dared to show Arthur the magic that he had kept secret for all his life. And to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur hadn’t threatened to banish him to the ends of the earth or ordered him to dangle from the hangman’s noose. No, in the few hours of his life that remained, he learned to appreciate Merlin for his magic, for all the things he did for Camelot, for Arthur. He thanked him for it with his dying breath.

If only Arthur could have experienced more of Merlin’s magic while he was alive. Now that Merlin could be assured of Arthur’s acceptance of his special talent, it hurt to think of all the times he could have used his magic to make life easier, not only for himself, but for Arthur and the people of his realm. He could have healed the sick, protected the crops from drought, and soothed away Arthur’s worries for his knights and their readiness for battle. He needed more time than the two short days he had to show Arthur all the things that magic could do. Much more time.

And what would Arthur have thought if he had known he had been flown to the lake on Kilgharrah’s back? Would he have been terrified, if he were conscious? Would he have been thrilled?

Merlin’s eyes scanned the water for a sign of acknowledgement from the waves.

He trusted Arthur. He trusted him to return. He had finally been able to tell him, to show him the magic he was made of—the truth that had so deeply been hidden, not for fear of being burned at the pyre, but for the fear of failing to protect Arthur, ensuring his path as the leader of a kingdom steeped in peace and nobility.

But they only shared a few moments of this truth together. How would that suffice to fill Merlin’s days with satisfaction while he waited for Arthur’s return? What of the great kingdom the two of them were to build? He had believed in Arthur and he had believed in the dragon’s words. His stupidity made his heart ache as he looked upon the empty water.

“Kilgharrah said a white dragon would bode well for the future of Camelot…” Merlin muttered, catching his words at the last moment when he remembered that this too must have been a lie. Had the dragon ever spoken the truth about anything?

Aithusa could have killed Arthur and his men at Camlann had Merlin not arrived in time to call him off.

Merlin had always tried his best to keep Arthur safe, but now the king was dead.

Worse still was Kilgharrah’s assertion that Merlin’s destiny had been fulfilled. His job was finished. There was no more to his story besides that.

Merlin took the last bite of the apple and tossed the core into the bushes beside the lake.

Now it seemed like everything the dragon had told him was some fabrication invented to deceive Merlin and make him feel worse. Why did he lie to Merlin about the great destiny that was to come?

And what about the people who gave their lives so that Merlin could ensure that Arthur’s destiny was fulfilled? What about Finna, who ran herself through, rather than give up Merlin’s identity to Morgana? What about Alator? And Merlin’s best friend, Will, who died protecting his secret? And Gilli? Merlin promised him that he would someday live in a world where those who used magic could be free. Merlin had been so convinced that Albion would see its golden age where he could finally be as the gods had made him. How could he have been so wrong? So many had died. Was it all for naught, the lives that were sacrificed so he could lead Arthur to the throne, sure that he would restore magic to the land?

Merlin refused to believe that their lives had gone to waste. There had to be a way for Arthur to return. There had to be a way to set this right. He had one idea, but it seemed so dangerous that he didn’t dare try, lest he be met with the same results as the last time he and Arthur used dark magic to conjure the dead.

“No,” Merlin said, still gazing on the water. He couldn’t bear it if Arthur returned and acted the same way that Uther had. “It’s hopeless.”

A ripple of waves spread across the water nearby.

“There’s always hope,” the manatee said, his whiskered face emerging from the water beside the shore.

“You again?” Merlin asked without needing an answer. “Why can’t you just let me be?”

The manatee swam closer, lumbering toward the muddy beachfront, using his flippers to drag himself across the sandy lake bottom. “I know you feel bad right now. You’re only asking me to leave you alone because you think you don’t need my help. You’re big and strong, but even the biggest and the strongest of us needs help sometimes,” the manatee said.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Merlin said in exasperation. He wished the manatee would swim away and leave him alone. “Why won’t you listen to me? You’re as stupid as you are ugly.”

“I’ll have you know some people mistake me for a mermaid, a beautiful princess of the sea,” the manatee said, using his tail to splash Merlin with a spray of water.

Merlin closed his eyes against the onslaught of dank lake water. “They’d be fools then. We’re miles from the sea,” Merlin said.

“I was happy to see you eating that apple,” the manatee said gleefully. “You’re so skinny, it makes me worry about you.”

“You needn’t worry about me,” Merlin said with a sigh. “I have enough worries for both of us.”

“The man in the boat made you sad,” the manatee said, its head now bobbing gently above the surface of the lake.

“You saw what happened. You know what became of him,” Merlin sniffled. It was clear that the manatee wasn’t going to drop his meddling into Merlin’s affairs. Merlin figured he had little to lose by sharing his thoughts with the manatee. Besides, he wanted to find out if it knew anything about the Sidhe or whether they even existed in this lake where they might be able to help Arthur return to him.

“I know lots of things. I’ve been here for a long time,” the manatee said. “Watching and waiting.”

“Do you know of the Sidhe?” Merlin asked. He felt apologetic for trying to befriend the manatee after only treating it with insolence before. He closed his eyes and remembered his king’s face, pale with death as Merlin let his magic sweep his boat across the waves. 

The manatee nodded. “I have seen them swimming in these waters before and flitting through the air above the lake. When I first came here, they tried to help me. They seem to like me well enough. With them, it’s always _Morforwyn, can you trim these reeds? Morforwyn, can you move this rock? Morforwyn, can you keep those Saxons from pissing in the lake?”_

Merlin snorted out a laugh. “I thought the Sidhe were all powerful? Why do they need your help?” he asked.

“They are very powerful,” Morforwyn said. “I think they just like to make me feel useful.”

It seemed to Merlin that the Sidhe were just using Morforwyn for their own amusement. He caught himself and stopped his smile when he realized that their need for entertainment was not much different than Kilgharrah’s need for an audience to hear the story he had spun—an audience consisting of one unfortunate sorcerer. He closed his eyes against his sorrow.

Morforwyn apparently sensed Merlin’s return to sadness and tried to cheer him. “The amazing thing about the lake is that it always provides everything I need. I love swimming in the water,” he said, dunking his head in deep and then exhaling when he emerged again, the droplets sailing across to where Merlin sat, the water dripping from Morforwyn’s whiskers.

Merlin opened his eyes to see that the creature had beached himself partway out of the water. The manatee stretched his upper body halfway onto the shore. A front flipper touched Merlin’s arm soothingly. He could feel its weight, curiously slippery from the water and brine. Merlin looked into Morforwyn’s eyes and saw only reassurance and compassion there. He supposed if he needed to have a friend beside him, this animal would do. He couldn’t be much worse than the dragon who lied about everything he had told Merlin from the moment they met.

“The water makes me feel so free. It’s a lot like love, Merlin,” Morforwyn said.

“Love?” Merlin asked sullenly. He wasn’t sure what the manatee was getting at.

“Maybe if I see the Sidhe again, I can get word to them for you. I know how much you miss your friend.”

“If you haven’t seen the Sidhe lately, you can’t help me because they can’t help him,” Merlin said.

“Your friend?” asked the manatee.

“My friend,” Merlin said, burying his face in the crook of his arm.

Morforwyn rested his head on Merlin’s knee.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay in the water?” Merlin asked, drawing away.

“No, I’ll be fine for a little while, thanks so very much for asking,” Morforwyn said, settling his head on Merlin’s knee again.

Merlin relaxed under the weight of the creature’s head, resting as it did.

Morforwyn took a long breath and said, “Grief is one of those really terrible things, Merlin. I wish there was something I could say that would make this okay, but there isn’t. Losing a friend is horrible, and I’m afraid it never gets any easier.”

Merlin wasn’t sure whether he felt better or worse for Morforwyn’s claim that it wouldn’t get any easier. “It’s all my fault that he’s gone,” he said resting a hand on the manatee’s head.

“No, of course it’s not your fault,” Morforwyn said gently. “I know it’s hard now, but it’s important to focus on the good things. You got to spend time with a wonderful man who chose you as a friend and companion. He enriched your life, and you were special and important to him. It made you both better, and it made the world better too.”

“No, that’s just it,” Merlin said. “We were supposed to make the world better, but now everyone we loved is dead and the kingdom needs to carry on without him. Who knows what will happen to Camelot now that he’s gone?”

“Oh, Merlin, the people we love, they never leave us. Not really. Because we remember them, and we were changed by them. That kind of love creates ripples in the world,” Morforwyn said.

“The only kind of ripples I can make are those of my tears splashing in the water,” Merlin sniffled. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the drip from his nose.

Morforwyn sighed and nuzzled his head on Merlin’s shoulder. The feel of the manatee, alive and breathing, comforted Merlin. It seemed to sooth away some of the sorrow so he could speak with reason.

“I have an idea,” Merlin whispered, lifting his head. “But I’m not sure if it will work.”

Morforwyn nodded. “Sometimes, you just need to try,” he said soothingly… calmingly.

“I don’t know. I listened to a creature like you before, and it only brought me lies and sorrow,” Merlin said.

“You trusted the dragon, Merlin. You did what you thought was right. You can’t be blamed for that,” Morforwyn said. “Please don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Merlin considered the manatee’s words. He doubted that he could follow his advice, but it made him think of how much blame he had put on himself and how difficult it was to bear it alone.

“I think I _could_ do something to get Arthur back, but it would be dangerous,” Merlin said, biting his lip. 

“You’re very smart Merlin. I’m sure you’ve found ways to escape harm many times in your young life, no matter how dangerous it seemed. You know how to avoid trouble, I know you can do it now,” Morforwyn said.

Merlin looked sideways at the manatee. He wondered how the creature knew so much.

“Hey, you got this!” Morforwyn said with a splash of his tail. “It doesn’t matter what I think. At the end of the day, the only person to trust is yourself. You have to do what you feel is right in your heart. Never mind what some bullying dragon or land-locked manatee has to say about it. It’s only up to you.”

Merlin felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile, but then he remembered how badly this very same plan had ended the last time he tried it. Arthur was alive then. It was Arthur’s plan to resurrect his father to begin with, but now Merlin wasn’t so sure whether he wanted to risk the same outcome. “What if it doesn’t work? Merlin asked. “I’ll have to leave Arthur here to get what I need. I’m not sure I want to leave him. He’s my friend... he’s more than my friend.” 

“You’ll never know if it can work, unless you try,” Morforwyn said. “You wouldn’t have thought of the idea you have if you didn’t believe just a little bit that it would work.”

“I’m not sure,” Merlin said. “I’ve always been so stupid when it comes to the important things. It’s as if acting ridiculously and pretending I didn’t have magic has rubbed off on me and I’ve forgotten how to make proper sense of things. It’s gone on for so long.”

“No, Merlin,” the manatee said. “You’re smarter than you know. I think you should give your plan a try.”

“But nothing ever turns out the way it’s supposed to,” Merlin said. “Do you know that I only told Arthur I had magic just days ago, when it was too late to defeat the prophecy. Why did I wait so long? How could I have been such an idiot? He was right to call me that, you know. I am an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You just did what you thought was right. You shouldn’t feel bad because of that,” the manatee said. “You’re a good person, even if things don’t always turn out the way you’d like them to. You tried, and you did it with the best of intentions. And that’s what matters.”

Merlin gazed out over the misty water. The weight of the manatee’s head on his shoulder grounded him, soothing him with its heavy assurance.

“There’s a horn,” Merlin began with a sniffle. “An old woman that Arthur saved from death gave it to him... gave it to us.”

The sun’s rays warmed the air, making the fog swirl slow and bright around the distant tower.

“Go ahead, tell me more,” Morforwyn said.

“The horn of Cathbhadh,” Merlin said. “It has magical powers.”

“I’ve never heard of it before,” Morforwyn said, shaking his head. “Is it some kind of musical instrument or a horn that the man-at-arms uses to announce the arrival of the king to the throne room?”

“No,” Merlin said, stroking the manatee’s slick head. “It is used to call the dead back to life.”

“That sounds like powerful magic,” Morforwyn said. “I can see where it would make you worry about using it on your friend.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said with a nod. “His name was Arthur.”

“Arthur,” the manatee repeated.

“He was to be the greatest ruler the realm has ever known,” Merlin said, “only it’s my fault that I couldn’t save him in time so that he could be king long enough… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Merlin’s hand left Morforwyn’s head as he used his filthy neckerchief to wipe the tears that he thought were finished falling. When he opened his eyes, Morforwyn was watching him.

“If there’s a chance that you could help bring him back to life, would you take it?” Morforwyn asked.

Merlin chewed his lip. He’d do anything to have Arthur back. “I don’t want to leave him here alone. I want to stay here beside the water, in case he returns to me… in case he returns to Camelot,” Merlin said.

The silent lake he had watched over for three days showed no signs of the Sidhe’s presence, no glimpse of Arthur’s golden hair rising above the waves as he returned to Merlin’s side. Merlin tugged his jacket around him tightly, trying to stave off the chilly air that washed over him from the lake. He shivered with hunger for warmth in his belly, but there was only emptiness there, like the vacant expanse of rippling water.

“What more do I have to lose?” Merlin asked, his voice a whisper.

“You can do it,” Morforwyn said. “If there’s a chance you can bring him back. You can do it, Merlin!”

With Arthur gone, there was nothing else that could be taken from Merlin. Everything he loved had been stripped away from him time and again. What was another loss to him? His mother, his home, his friends, his magic… his king… there was nothing left for him to lose. He gave up everything he had, and it was all for nothing—just some stupid story that a dragon made up mostly of riddles.

The horn of Cathbhadh could bring Arthur back from the dead.

Another tear fell into the lake. Merlin agreed with the manatee. He couldn’t sit here by the lake waiting for Arthur. He had to try to get Arthur back.

~ ~ ~ 


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin dragged his feet across the leaf-strewn forest floor, kicking up a cloud of duff that swirled in his wake. It would take him a day to reach Camelot without the benefit of a horse. He didn’t dare call the great dragon again. Despite Kilgharrah’s willingness to fly one more time to bring Arthur to his final resting place, Merlin wasn’t about to push his luck, or the dragon’s shaky wings.

Truth be told, he grew more disenchanted with Kilgharrah by the hour. He could certainly never trust anything he said again. He felt as if he had been deceived, cheated into thinking that someday Camelot’s future and the hope of all magic users would be brighter than ever. Not since the time before Uther’s reign had magic users lived in peace. No matter how many challenges Merlin faced, no matter how many times he had risked his own life, he did so with the dragon’s assurance that he needed to protect Arthur at all costs to not only ensure magic’s acceptance, but to ensure a peaceful realm with a unified Albion under Arthur’s leadership. Together, Merlin would help Arthur to forge a kingdom that would forever grow in peace and prosperity. The dragon had said…

Lies, all of it.

It would take a long while before Merlin could accept the idea that nothing of the dragon’s prophecies was to be believed. He’d ask Gaius what he thought about it, but Merlin doubted he could bear staying in Camelot for any longer than strictly necessary. He’d take care of business, say goodbye to Gaius, and depart the castle before the dawn. Besides, he wanted to get back to the lake as quickly as possible with the horn.

If there was a sign of the Sidhe, Morforwyn would tell Merlin about it when he returned. Better that Morforwyn deal with the Sidhe than him for now since Merlin wasn’t sure what the Sidhe’s reaction would be to him. At least with the manatee at the lake, Merlin felt better about leaving his watchpost to journey toward Camelot and the life he knew he must leave behind. He wondered if he’d be able to bring himself the enter Camelot’s gates when he arrived, or whether he’d crumple devastated at the thought of entering the castle without his king by his side.

He tried not to dwell on his sorrow as his feet took him across the land. Saxons still could be roaming the woods and while Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to use magic against them, there was little he could do if he was caught unaware. It would only take a strike from a mace or an arrow’s bolt to render him unconscious. If the Saxons suspected he was the very same sorcerer who had dispatched so many of their army’s finest soldiers, Merlin would have to pay for their defeat with his own life.

Merlin kept to the trees so he would be sheltered from an enemy’s view, while still maintaining a good vantage point over the open lands where a horse might graze. The woods were strangely quiet, given that a battle had taken place nearby only days earlier. He supposed Morgana’s death really would bring peace, at least for a little while. There was no telling whether the Saxons would still take up arms despite the loss of Morgana as their ally.

When Merlin thought it was safe to do so, he whistled for Arthur’s horse, Hengroen, and Gwynnis, the mare that he had ridden to Camlann from the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They had to be roaming the forest nearby, as did Morgana’s horse. In fact, with so many casualties on both sides of the battle, the forest around Camlann should have been teeming with riderless horses. Surely some of them had made their way to the golden meadows of autumn grass near Camelot.

With no horses in sight, Merlin came to a crossroads and stopped to rest his aching feet. He slid the satchel of food from his shoulder and sat on a large rock that marked the intersection with the road to Ealdor. If not for the hope of securing the Horn of Cathbhadh that was stored away in Gaius’s collection of magical artefacts, Merlin would have considered visiting his mother. He hadn’t seen Hunith in more than a year. She would be worried sick about him when she heard the news of Arthur’s death.

Merlin kicked off his boots to air his damp feet. He chewed on a strip of dried venison he took from the satchel, the hunger returning to him momentarily.

When Arthur joked in his delirium that he would grant Merlin more than one day off, a visit to Hunith was the first thing Merlin considered. He missed her terribly. Perhaps he could have convinced Arthur to join him in a visit to Ealdor. Arthur always behaved graciously around Hunith. He lost some of his surliness in her presence—and he’d not dare call Merlin an idiot while Hunith was within earshot, no matter how playful he meant the taunt to sound. It was almost as if Arthur held Hunith in such high esteem that he wanted to leave her with only a positive memory of his kindness and generosity, one that was tempered with respect for her son.

Merlin felt a stab of pain when he realized he’d never see his mother together with Arthur again.

He looked down the line of trees that lined the road to Ealdor. He needed Hunith now, more than ever. For all of Merlin’s life, he knew no comfort as soothing as his mother’s touch. Only her hands had smoothed the frown from Merlin’s brow, only her arms had held him while he cried, only her lips had whispered comforting words to him when he was troubled. Hunith would know what to do for Merlin in his despair. She, more than anyone else, would understand the gravity of what Arthur’s death meant for Merlin, the failure he felt deep in is bones for not being able to protect Arthur from Mordred’s blade.

Hunith would know to touch her palm to Merlin’s forehead and hug him in the way only a mother could. She’d smile at him and try to absorb some of his pain into her own heart, her strong arms drawing him close. Merlin tore his eyes away from the road. There was no time to visit her now. Prolonging his break at the crossroads tortured his heart. Merlin sensed that the sun would soon begin its descent, although it was hidden by the heavy clouds. Camelot lay ahead, and Merlin had to hurry if he was going to reach the castle before dark.

Merlin gathered his belongings and shoved his feet back into his boots. Beyond the trees, a slow-moving brook would provide fresh water for the remainder of the journey. Merlin drained his water skin and went to the bank to fill it. The day had been humid for late autumn and the rivers had been running low as they typically did at summer’s end. He knelt on the bank and lowered the mouth of the skin to the water, letting the rim dip below the surface so he could fill it to capacity. When it was full, he sat back on his heels and tipped the skin to his lips, drinking his fill before replenishing his water supply again.

When he touched the skin to the water, he saw a haze of blue light rise to the brook’s surface. At first, he thought the sun had broken through the overcast, the water gleaming beneath the dim rays. But when he looked closer, he saw the image of the manatee peering at him from beneath the water.

“Oh!” Merlin said falling back onto his arse, his limbs sprawling from the shock of seeing Morforwyn where he least expected. “It’s you again.”

Morforwyn seemed to move closer to the surface, but he stopped before his face could break the water.

Merlin touched his fingers to the water and rings of concentric circles spread across the brook. It surprised him that the manatee could have travelled so far, using only the waterways. But he soon recognized the water as a tool that could be used as a scrying pool for when Morforwyn wanted to communicate with him.

“Morforwyn, is something wrong?” Merlin asked.

Morforwyn grimaced, and said, “I only came to see you in this way because I have something to show you.”

“What is it?” Merlin asked. He was certain it would be more bad news about Arthur. “Is it Arthur? Please tell me.” He couldn’t imagine that anything worse could have happened to Arthur than the death he experienced at the lakeside. If not death, then what could be worse?

“I’ve come to give you some sad news. I know it will be better if it comes from me than if you find out about it on your own, or learn it from someone else,” Morforwyn said gently.

Merlin crumpled. "Is it the Sidhe? Did they tell you there is nothing they can do to help Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“No, it’s not the Sidhe, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “You'll have to follow me where the water leads and I’ll show you what has happened. I'll be right here with you all the way, but I’m so sorry to tell you that you have lost another friend.” 

“Another friend?” Merlin asked. He got to his feet and followed where Morforwyn led, his scry image swimming close to the earthy brookbank. Merlin grew more worried with every tentative step along the dead moss that lined the bank. Another friend was gone. Dead, maybe? What more could possibly go wrong this summer?

Morforwyn travelled the meandering brook as it wound through the forest while Merlin quickly followed him on the shore. Soon they came to a copse of withered trees that extended into the water. Beyond the dying and curling leaves, Merlin thought he caught a glimpse of scales.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, panting from trying to keep his balance on the unstable rocks and moss.

He saw a stirring in the leaves, as if some great beast had drawn its last breath. A flash of green skin and the spikes of dragon claws. It was Kilgharrah, asleep in the dirt beyond the trees.

But he wasn’t sleeping. Merlin knew in an instant that old age had claimed him.

He knelt at the dragon’s head. “Old friend,” Merlin said, remembering Kilgharrah with affection despite the havoc he created with his lies.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Morforwyn said from the water. “I just had to let you know.”

Merlin stroked the tough hide behind Kilgharrah’s ears. “Thank you, Morforwyn. I’m glad you showed me. I would have wondered what became of him. It would have been worse if I stumbled upon him myself, or if I saw the people of Camelot celebrating his death. He caused them more harm than he ever did me.”

“If you’re sad again, we can hug until the sad thoughts go away,” Morforwyn said.

“I am sad, but it was Kilgharrah’s time to go,” Merlin said. He quirked an eyebrow in Morforwyn’s direction. “Besides, how are we going to hug if you’re only an apparition?”

Morforwyn grinned and closed his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “We can hug when you get back to the lake.”

Merlin smiled. There was something about this sea creature that made him feel at ease, despite Arthur’s death and the loss of the hope that Kilgharrah had long instilled in him. “We’ll hug soon enough then,” he said to the manatee.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need me to,” Morforwyn said. “But if you want me to keep an eye out for the Sidhe, I’d better get back to Avalon soon.”

“You’re right,” Merlin said. He had his eyes on the rocky ledges that lay beyond the trees. He didn't dare ask about Arthur, lest his heart break again. “And there has been no sign of the Sidhe since I left?”

“No, nor has there been any sign of Arthur,” Morforwyn said.

“Very well, then,” Merlin said, blinking back his tears. “You should return to Avalon. I have one last thing to do for Kilgharrah while I’m here. I can take care of it on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Morforwyn asked.

Merlin thought about it for a moment and decided that he felt much more confident in his own abilities than he did earlier in the day. There was no need for him to put on a false bravado to convince the manatee that he was sincere. Before the sun set tonight, he'd retrieve the Horn of Cathbhadh and his plan to return Arthur to life would start moving in the right direction. He knelt at the brookbank and touched a long finger to the water, caressing the image of the manatee's face.

“I’ve got this,” Merlin said boldly.

Morforwyn smiled. “I am so proud of you, Merlin,” he said. “You’ve done so well and I think you’re going to be just fine in time. I’ll see you back in Avalon, if not before.”

Merlin watched as the manatee’s face faded from view. He wiped his wet fingers on the hem of his bloodied jacket.

Beyond the trees lay an area of stone that had been heaved from the earth. Merlin got to his feet and walked to the opening in the forest. The flat ledges paved the ground in an area that was nearly the size of Camelot's courtyard. Only a few patches of sparse grass seeped up from the dirt that had filled the spaces between the stones. The area would be expansive enough to serve Merlin's purpose.

After a quick look around, and with his ears pricked to attention for the presence of Saxons, Merlin returned to Kilgharrah's side.

He lay his hand on Kilgharrah's head, the scales stiff with death beneath his palm.

“If my heart wasn’t already broken by Arthur’s death, yours would have filled me with unbearable sorrow,” Merlin whispered.

The forest was quiet, except for Merlin’s breath. He bit down on his bottom lip.

“I don't know why you lied to me,” Merlin said. “I suppose you thought you were doing the right thing, but I can't forgive you for this.”

Merlin removed his hand from Kilgharrah's head and stood beside the hulking creature, its wings withered and collapsed against the ground.

“I can only hope there will be another way to make this right,” Merlin said, wiping a tear from his eye, “to make up for all your lies. Perhaps some other time… perhaps some other dragon.”

Merlin raised his hand into the air and uttered his spell, _”Snæden þá scinfelda áfæstne ádas.”_

With a flash of Merlin's eyes, the yellowed grass that surrounded the ledgy rocks disengaged from their roots as if they had been sliced by an unseen blade. Merlin knew his magic needed to work quickly, lest he be discovered by bandits or Saxons who could be marauding nearby. Length after length of brittle straw slid into place upon the rocks, the pyre building itself under Merlin's direction.

When he was satisfied with his work, Merlin turned his attention back to Kilgharrah.

 _”Abregdan þá dracan alecgede hine uppan þá adas,”_ Merlin spoke, using his outstretched palm to guide the dragon’s lifeless body.

The dragon floated gently through the air and came to rest on the bed of kindling Merlin had made for him, a final resting place there in the forest.

Merlin steeled himself and took a step backwards. “Goodbye, old friend,” he whispered, although he had no words of praise for Kilgharrah this day.

Merlin’s eyes flared gold and for an instant, the pyre on the ledges became an inferno of red flames, the dragon's remains burning to black on the silvery rocks. Merlin had to shield himself from the heat, sweat breaking out on his face. The dampness dried out of his clothing for the first time since he transformed himself from the elderly Emrys who defeated the Saxons at Camlann. Such was the intensity of the flames that only moments later, the sky rained down with white ash. Merlin used his neckerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. With another flare of magic that turned his blue eyes to gold, the rocks appeared untouched, the dragon gone, as if he had never existed, except in Merlin’s memory.

Merlin turned away from the scene and started toward the crossroads, the white ash swirling behind him as he stepped through the forest and onto the road that would lead him to Camelot. Kilgharrah's scant remains of chalky white dust might cause the Saxons to shake their heads in wonder, but nothing more.

Shouldering his satchel, Merlin hurried along. He had travelled this grassy road many times and anticipated each turn of the path before he arrived at it. He knew just the place on the knoll where Camelot's spires would come into view. He remembered how excited he was when he first saw them as a young man. Nearly a decade had passed since that fateful day when got the first inkling of what his life's destiny would be. Fate had entrusted a prince with golden blond hair and a brilliant smile into his care. Merlin, who could barely keep a baby chick alive without tripping over it. Merlin, who accidentally trampled Hunith's prized tomatoes while chasing Will through her garden. Merlin, who couldn't walk and chew on a leaf of spearmint at the same time. The thought that he would play a part in unifying Albion’s warring realms so that they would someday become a cohesive and peaceful whole had been dizzying.

But now, not even Arthur's death would keep him from striving to fulfil the task he held most dearly to his heart.

He refused to believe his purpose ended where Kilgharrah insisted it did. For ten long years, he had associated success with a living breathing Arthur by his side. He wouldn't give up hope now, no matter how futile it seemed with Arthur somewhere in the care of the Sidhe.

Merlin steeled himself when he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the crimson Pendragon pennants, a golden dragon emblazoned on each one, flying from the battlements. His heart ached when he remembered Arthur's pale lips, the cold skin of his forehead, the vacant look in his eyes before he closed them for the last time. Merlin's feet stumbled, but he forced himself to continue forward. No matter what losses he'd suffered in recent days, entering the gates to the citadel alone, when he had so often ridden beside Arthur, was one of the most painful experiences of Merlin’s life.

Together, he and Arthur had passed through this stone entryway hundreds of times over the years. Upon entering the courtyard, Arthur would nod to his subjects who welcomed their king home from battle or patrol or hunt. He’d then turn in his saddle to look fondly at Merlin for a moment before surging forward again, his chin raised nobly as if to say, “All hail your returning king. Not only did he defeat Camelot’s enemies, bring peace to the land, and provide food for the feast, but he also brought his idiot manservant back in one piece. Yes, he might be a bit damaged, but he’s still alive.”

Whenever Merlin tried to question him about it afterwards, Arthur would throw his head back with laughter, saying, “It’s true though, Merlin. Bringing you back to Camelot alive adds to my credibility as a great ruler. Besides, I like having you beside me. It gives me good tales to tell about your mishaps when we return home. Now drink your ale and get to bed before you fall asleep in my chair.”

“Arthur,” Merlin sighed, missing him more than ever. He’d give anything to hear his laugh again, to see his fond expression. 

Merlin’s heart ached as he passed through the entrance. He’d try to remember the manatee's encouraging words and move forward through the layers of pain toward a time of hope and acceptance.

“I’ve got this,” he whispered.

Merlin slowed his pace and let his fingers slide across the stone entryway as he entered the courtyard. He thought it strange that no guards were stationed as lookouts on the battlements or as sentries by the gates. Darkness fell on the castle grounds, but no torches had been ignited to help a traveller find their way from the lower town, should an emergency arise and help be needed from the knights or the king…

The _queen_ —Merlin reminded himself.

After Percival delivered the news of Arthur’s death, Gwen would have ascended to Arthur’s throne in the days that passed while Merlin mourned by the lake. He felt confident that Gwen would rule as wisely as her husband, but something was clearly amiss with the castle’s security.

Merlin slipped into the very same corridor to which he had been directed on his first visit to Camelot. Gaius would be waiting for him inside his workshop that served as his pharmacy as well as his and Merlin’s home. But when Merlin tugged the latch on the creaky old door, it swung open to reveal a deserted workshop. 

“Gaius,” Merlin called out carefully. He didn’t want to scare the old man half to death by appearing after being gone for so long. He wondered if Gaius remembered his promise to make Merlin’s favourite meal when he returned. As much as it would be a welcome pleasure—to sit down to one of Gaius’s home-cooked concoctions, Merlin wouldn’t let it bother him if preparing dinner wasn’t one of Gaius’s priorities right now.

“Gaius?” Merlin called again. Nothing.

Merlin had no time to waste waiting for Gaius to return to his chambers. He climbed the stairs that led to his room. More than a week had passed since he had been in his own room with his own things. He felt fortunate that nothing seemed to have happened to his belongings while he was away.

He felt for the loose board beneath his bed and brought his magic book from its hiding place. The Horn of Cathbhadh had already been used once with terrifying results. Merlin hoped that his book of magic might provide some insight as to why the horn had worked the way it did when Arthur used it to summon Uther. He shoved the book into his satchel and crawled out from beneath the bed. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass that hung on the wall above his wash basin.

He barely recognized himself.

The fog of days that passed since Arthur’s death hadn’t treated him kindly. His eyes were rimmed with red from crying and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Merlin grimaced, supposing that much was true. His tunic was stained with splotches of dried blood, dark against the blue linen that once served as his best shirt. Merlin didn’t want to think about whose blood had soaked through his clothing. It could have been Morgana’s just as easily as it could have been Arthur’s.

He dropped his satchel on the bed. He went to the door and closed it so he could look at the meagre choice of clothing that hung from the hook on the back of the door. A varied wardrobe was never one of Merlin’s concerns. He took his spare tunic from the hook, shook it out, and examined it. Determining that it was clean enough, he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his belt. He stripped off his dirty tunic, tossing it into the pile of laundry on the floor. His fingers fiddled with the knot on his neckerchief which was even more filthy than his tunic. The sweaty knot slipped between his fingers more than once before he freed the garment from around his neck and let it drop into the pile of dirty clothes. He winced when he remembered that he had meant to haul the whole lot of it off to the room adjacent to the kitchen, where the constant supply of hot water and a scrubbing with a good soap would have made the clothes clean again.

Was it only a week ago that he had meant to go there?

He had visited Arthur’s chambers to turn down his bed for the evening when he bumped into the nightstand, spilling a goblet of wine onto the floor. It would have been easy to mop up the mess and call it a night, except for the fact that Arthur's favourite white tunic caught most of the spill from where it lay discarded on the stones.

Merlin had huffed out a breath and gathered the tunic with a heap of other kingly laundry to take to the kitchen. He was sure that Amelia, the new laundress, would never be able to remove such a stain, no matter how she scrubbed. Instead, Merlin hid the tunic in his room, resolving to take care of it himself with magic at his earliest opportunity. Only a night later did Morgana’s lackey plant the Gean Canach in his room to attack him in his slumber, vanquishing his magic and triggering the turn of events that left Arthur dead.

Merlin plucked the white tunic from his laundry now. The stain had set even worse than he remembered, blood red wine that reminded Merlin of Arthur's fatal wound. He brought the garment to his nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of Arthur's scent, but all he could smell was the stale wine, a reminder his chance of restoring Arthur to life faded with every passing hour.

He tried not to think about his failure, lest he start crying again. His tears would do nothing to earn back Gaius’s faith in him and his magic. The last thing he needed would be Gaius’s refusal to relinquish the Horn of Cathbhadh. Then, Merlin would be back where he started, wallowing in hopelessness beside the lake. He’d not leave there of his own free will again.

Divested of his filthy shirt and neckerchief, Merlin poured some water from the pitcher into the wash basin. He dipped his hands into the water, but just as his fingertips touched the shimmering surface, he yelped and jumped backwards, startled by the image of Morforwyn's mottled face smiling at him from the basin.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked. He scratched the hair on his bare chest with his wet fingers, amused that the manatee could appear without any warning whatsoever.

“I just stopped by to make sure you were feeling better,” Morforwyn said, his head surrounded by a blue glow. “That was a brave thing you did back at the brook.”

Merlin took a half-step backwards, but braced his hands on the washstand while he remembered the final task he performed for Kilgharrah. “Yes, I’m okay,” he said, blinking away the start of fresh tears. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I wanted to wash up before Gaius got back.”

“Merlin?” Morforwyn asked, his translucent face taking up the entire space of the basin.

Merlin glanced toward the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, Arthur's stained shirt on top of the mess. “Yes?” he replied.

Morforwyn spoke, his voice gentle, “When someone asks, _Are you okay?_ it’s all right to say _no.”_

Merlin sighed. He couldn’t fool the manatee, but he still tried to fool himself.

“It may be for some people,” Merlin muttered. “But not me, apparently.”

Just then, Merlin heard the latch being raised on the door of Gaius’s workshop.

“Gaius is back,” he said to Morforwyn, but when he looked into the basin next, the manatee was gone. Only the swirl of water that splashed onto the floor proved that he had been there at all.

Merlin threw his clean tunic over his head without bothering to wash. He doubted whether Gaius knew he had returned, so he cleared his throat to give some warning, lest he startle the old man.

“Gaius,” he then called out.

“Merlin,” Gaius said, looking up in utter surprise when Merlin descended from the alcove.

Merlin let Gaius take him into a warm embrace.

“I thought I might never see you again,” Gaius choked out, on the verge of tears. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Merlin’s mood remained sombre. When his mentor released him, Merlin searched his face for understanding.

“You know about Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“Percival told us days ago, when he rode back from Avalon,” Gaius said grimly, clasping a fatherly hand to Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin shuddered when he thought about the inevitable spread of the news throughout the realm. “Everyone knew I was with Arthur then,” Merlin said apologetically. “I tried to get him to the lake, but he was so weak and our time together passed so quickly, more quickly than I thought possible.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Gaius said, his voice kind, “but if history tells us anything, you’ll know that sometimes your best isn’t always good enough.” 

Merlin ran his fingers through his matted hair. “It was so difficult to travel with him in his state. He had lost so much blood. He could barely walk. And the woods between Camlann and Avalon were teeming with Saxons… and if Percival returned here, then you know about Gwaine too?” Merlin asked.

Gaius nodded and then, as if he only just remembered something important, he left Merlin standing alone and bustled toward the cupboard saying, “I promised you your favourite meal, but I had no idea when to expect you. I'm surprised you showed up here at all. Surely you can imagine the queen is beside herself with grief.”

“Gwen… she must be devastated,” Merlin said, waving off Gaius’s promise of food. “I’m sure the knights will be angry—they’re right to blame me. I didn't stop Mordred in time—it’s almost as if I killed Arthur myself. Oh, Gaius, by the time we got near the lake it was far too late to do anything. For all the trouble it’s caused me, my magic couldn't save him.”

Gaius looked up from where he was carving slices from a loaf of bread. “They know, Merlin,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“They know?” Merlin asked. “About my magic?”

The realization that not only was he responsible for Arthur's death, but his greatest secret had become known to the queen, the knights, and probably every peasant in Camelot washed over Merlin and left him unsettled.

“I had to tell them,” Gaius said. He piled slices of cheese onto the bread and gave it a sprinkle of rosemary from a wooden jar. “Gwen asked if I knew the sorcerer who came to Arthur's aid at Camlann. I didn't lie.”

Merlin chewed on his bottom lip. If any doubt existed in his mind about whether he'd be able to return to Camelot, it was answered then. Everyone loved Arthur, and they'd never look at Merlin the same way again. He was the king's manservant, who became his protector against all odds. But there was no happy ending to his tale, no sound of trumpets triumphant that the hero had prevailed. Instead there was only dark water and a tower that barely emerged from the fog if one looked closely enough.

“I killed Morgana,” Merlin said, his voice meek, as if pleading for some acknowledgement that he had done something right.... anything?

“Percival informed the court about that too,” Gaius said, placing the plate of food atop the stove, but then he shook his head. “I’m afraid nothing will appease Gwen, not with Arthur dead.”

Merlin wondered if he should bother to tell Gaius about his plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur. He worried that if the horn couldn’t bring Arthur back, the failure might set off more trouble for magic users. They had relied on Merlin and he had failed. He couldn't bear the thought of magic being rejected by the people of Camelot, not when he had hoped that Arthur would restore magic to the realm one day. He shivered when he thought about how close he had come to reaching that goal. He watched Gaius take a torch to the bread, the cheese melting as he directed the heat from the torch upon it. He couldn't bear the thought of Gaius refusing to let Merlin use magic now, not with the much-needed horn hidden away somewhere in Gaius's storeroom, just waiting to be taken back to Avalon.

“Gwen?” Merlin asked, as Gaius set the plate of food in front of him. “How is she?”

“I’m afraid she’s not doing well,” Gaius said. “She’s just lost her husband and now she has a kingdom to run. The Saxons are still lurking in the forest nearby and she has all the matters of court to handle.”

Merlin sighed and took a bite of the bread and cheese that Gaius had garnished with spice. Arthur always made it look easy to others, but Merlin knew better. Ruling a kingdom was hard work. Whether dealing with the loss of his father, negotiating peace with the adjacent kingdoms whose rulers sought to make Camelot their own, or deciding matters for the villagers who brought their issues to court, Arthur never let his men see that he struggled under the weight of his crown. Only Merlin knew his doubts, his fears. Whether a problem was petty or of great consequence, Arthur always gave it his full attention. He treated his people with compassion and fairness. He asked only for loyalty in return, but even that was too great a favour for Merlin to grant, not when he unleashed bolts of lightning in the battle with the Saxons instead of preventing Mordred from running Arthur through.

“I must apologise to her,” Merlin said.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Gaius said.

“I need to. It’s my fault she’s got the whole kingdom relying on her—” Merlin said.

“It would be best if she didn’t see you at all. Not until you sort out what you’re going to say to her. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate the depth of her grief,” Gaius said.

“She’ll blame me for Arthur’s death, just like everyone else,” Merlin said, pushing the plate away. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I’m afraid she does blame you,” Gaius said. “She’s been under a considerable amount of stress these last days. I’ve prescribed her a draught that will calm her mind. It has helped her to sleep, but she has been prone to outbursts of agitation when the remedy has worn off. I’m afraid the pressures of being queen may be too much for her.”

“The guards, Gaius?” Merlin said, remembering how easily he slipped into Camelot. “I noticed there were no guards on duty. Was that Gwen’s doing?”

“Camelot’s forces suffered many losses during the battle at Camlann, besides that of her king. Gwen has the great challenge of keeping Camelot secure with a minimum of forces,” Gaius said.

“Well, she can’t leave Camelot unguarded. I entered the citadel without seeing a single man. Surely the Saxons won’t stay quiet for long, especially if they suspect Arthur is dead,” Merlin said.

“If Camelot is unguarded, it must have been an oversight on Gwen’s part. Leon has been doing what he can to guide her decisions while the kingdom recuperates from this week of trials,” Gaius said, pouring water from the pitcher into a cup for Merlin.

Merlin took the cup and sipped the water. “Gwen has always made good decisions in the past. I’m sure that Arthur had every confidence in her as queen,” he said.

“You’ll recall that Gwen comes from a position of servitude,” Gaius said. “She remembers how hard her father worked as a smith, spending long days over the fire. Gwen learned her compassion from him. She wants to be a good and honourable queen to her people, but sometimes she suffers from such indecision that I fear it may drive her mad.”

“I’m sure it’s not a responsibility many people would want to have put upon them, but I doubt the Saxons will hold off an attack if they learn that the castle is unguarded,” Merlin said.

“I’m afraid the changes in her temperament cannot be controlled by a simple draught,” Gaius said. “In time, she’ll be able to think with a level head. You need to understand that she’s undergone a great trauma to have lost her husband at such a young age.”

Merlin folded his arms and rested them on the table, using them as a pillow for his head. He nearly fell asleep, but a desperate sorrow overtook him. No matter how the loss of Arthur would affect the future of Camelot, it seemed that no one would ever be able to understand how it affected Merlin. His whole life had revolved around Arthur. He had tried to keep him safe, but Arthur had died in Merlin’s arms. Merlin doubted he would ever feel right about the world again.

“What if there was a way to get Arthur back?” Merlin asked without lifting his head.

“Merlin, I know well enough that the Sidhe were Arthur’s only hope. You got him to the lake and nothing happened. It will be difficult for you, but you need to start the process of letting Arthur go,” Gaius said.

Merlin raised his head from his arms and looked Gaius in the eye. “What if I used the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur from death?” he asked.

“Merlin,” Gaius said disapprovingly, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense to me. I think it may be the only way to bring Arthur back,” Merlin said.

Gaius laid one hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and stooped to gaze sternly into his eyes. “No, I can’t let you do this,” Gaius said. “I won’t.”

“But, why not?” Merlin asked, the tears welling again, despite his sleepiness. “I have to do something.”

Gaius stood upright and began to pace the floor behind Merlin. “Merlin, have you forgotten what happened when Arthur used the horn to summon Uther from the dead? What if Arthur returns and behaves with the same vengeance and cruelty as Uther did?”

“Arthur could never be like that,” Merlin said sitting up straight in his seat again.

“What makes you think that the horn won’t change Arthur into someone we don’t recognize?” Gaius asked, stopping in his tracks. “From what you told me, Uther tried to kill Arthur after he was brought back to life with the horn. Even if you can bring Arthur back, is that the kind of future you want for Camelot? One where the king instils fear in his people? Do you want a kingdom where Arthur will rule by force? The Arthur I know wouldn’t stand for it.”

“No, but—” Merlin started. He knew Gaius would disagree with him. When did Gaius _ever_ think that Merlin’s ideas would work? Merlin stared at the cup of water that Gaius had set in front of him. The clear liquid reminded him of the manatee and the words that gave him courage. The water—how the amazing thing about the water was that it always provided what he would need. Perhaps it was time that Merlin stopped listening to Gaius. Perhaps it was time that Merlin followed his own path, disregarding Gaius’s ideas for once.

“But nothing,” Gaius said. “You can’t do that to Arthur. He was your friend.”

“But if I can bring him back, don’t I owe it to him to try? He won’t be like Uther, I just know he won’t be,” Merlin said. “This is _Arthur_ we’re talking about. He’ll never be like his father. He all but told me so himself when I showed him the good that magic could do in responsible hands.”

“You showed him more of your magic?” Gaius asked, covering his eyes with his palms. “I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that you waited this long, or more surprised that Arthur didn’t execute you on the spot.”

Merlin scoffed at Gaius’s remark. He could have no idea what has transpired between Arthur and himself when they made their journey to Avalon. Gaius may have known Arthur as his father’s son, but Merlin knew better. He just wished it hadn’t taken a journey of two whole days for Merlin to realize that Arthur wouldn’t sentence him to death for his magic, that Arthur trusted him, that Arthur seemed perfectly at peace to die in his arms, Merlin’s secret revealed and accepted for all that it meant between them. Gaius could never know the feelings that threatened to overwhelm Merlin now, the tears welling up again. Arthur was not just the king Merlin was charged to protect, they were more than that to each other—what the dragon had called two halves of the same coin.

At least that much of what the dragon said seemed true.

“I need to get the horn,” Merlin said. “I need to try to use it. It’s my fault that I didn’t get Arthur to the lake in time. You said it would be two days and I thought we could make it there, but I failed despite that nonsense the dragon said about Arthur returning when he was needed most. Arthur is needed most right now. And his death is on my hands. I can’t live with that. I won’t.”

Gaius pulled a stool to the table and sat beside Merlin. He said, “I have tried to help you for all these years. I tried to teach you right from wrong. You knew that the prophecy said that Arthur would die at Mordred’s hand, yet you insist on disregarding this knowledge with your plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh. You’ve always tried too hard to change things when you knew there was no way of changing them. I can’t let you make the same mistake again. It only ends in disappointment. Look at you! Have you eaten anything since Arthur died? Have you even washed yourself? You smell like you’ve spent the day in the stocks.”

“The horn, Gaius,” Merlin said. “I want the horn.”

Gaius pushed himself back from the table. “I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s too risky. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You won’t lose me,” Merlin said sullenly.

Merlin wasn’t sure whether to believe that Gaius didn’t have the horn. Despite his bone-deep tiredness, he rose from the table and began to climb the ladder to the upper level of Gaius’s workshop. It was here, in a locked cabinet that Gaius stored the relics of the purge, along with other magical devices and objects. Merlin remembered the first time Gaius had given Merlin an object from the hidden cabinet—his cherished book of magic.

“Merlin, no!” Gaius said, but it was futile for Gaius to try to stop Merlin now. Merlin was determined to leave Camelot with the Horn of Cathbhadh in his hands if he had to tear the castle apart looking for it.

Merlin stepped off the top ladder rung and strode to the cabinet. With a flash of golden eyes and a barely whispered spell, he had the cabinet open, despite Gaius’s best efforts to keep it secure from intruders. Merlin ignored Gaius’s protests that the horn was not there as he rummaged through the cabinet’s contents.

He reached for the top shelf where his fingers landed in a sticky mess of goo, the source of which was something that he decided not to think about. Wiping his fingers on his tunic, he continued to search for the horn. He pulled Aulfric’s staff to the front of the cabinet, its blue gemstone aglow at Merlin’s command to illuminate the dark space so he could better see. Pushing the various magical garments aside, Merlin dug through the clothing, feeling for the horn in the pockets of each cloak that was confiscated from sorcerers in the years of Uther’s reign.

There was nothing.

On he searched, all the way to the bottom of the cabinet, where various circular devices of cold iron lay, remnants of the purge when they were locked around the suspected sorcerer’s necks so they couldn’t perform their magic while they were led to the pyre. Merlin shuddered to think of the ancient devices secured around his neck and wrists. He felt certain that he’d be able to use his magic to overpower such restraints if it ever came to that.

With the Horn of Cathbhadh nowhere in sight, Merlin threw his hands in the air. He glanced over the railing and watched Gaius with his face buried in his hands. It was clear that he wasn’t going to assist Merlin further in his quest. He descended the stairs reluctantly.

If Gaius didn’t have the horn in his collection of magical artefacts, there was only one place where Merlin believed it could be hidden. If Arthur had kept the horn, despite the bad memories of his father it brought forth, despite how it made Arthur believe Uther was disappointed in him as king, Gaius didn’t need to say another word. Merlin knew exactly where Arthur would have hidden such a thing.

“If you won’t tell me where the horn is, I'll say goodbye to you,” Merlin said slumping down onto his chair beside Gaius. Even to Merlin, the words sounded like they came from a petulant brat, instead of from a fully grown man. “I’ll leave in the morning. There’s no further need for me to remain in Camelot. Not as long as Arthur won’t be here with me.”

Gaius frowned miserably. “Merlin,” he said, patting Merlin’s back, “you’ve got to give yourself some time to grieve over Arthur’s death. Running away won’t change anything. Besides, I’d miss you terribly if you left Camelot.”

Merlin hated to make Gaius feel this way. Although his refusal to support Merlin’s plan left them at a stalemate, he couldn’t bear to see Gaius so distressed.

“Gaius, have you ever heard of a creature called a manatee?” Merlin asked, hoping to change the subject to something more pleasant, lest they both end up in tears over the tragedy of the past week.

“A manatee?” Gaius asked. "It doesn't sound very familiar. What sort of creature is it?"

“I think it lives in the water, primarily,” Merlin said.

“Ah, I believe I may have heard of such a creature before,” Gaius said tapping his finger to his lips.

Merlin used the remains of his slice of bread to wipe the spices from his plate while Gaius climbed the ladder to one of the many bookshelves in his workshop. Merlin suspected that Gaius was equally relieved by the change of subject.

“It might have magical powers,” Merlin called over his shoulder.

"It might, you say?" Gaius asked from high on the ladder that led to the upper level of the dusty shelves. After shuffling through some pages, Gaius returned to the table with the book of creatures open wide. He dropped it in front of Merlin.

“That’s it,” Merlin said, looking at the sketch of Morforwyn. The author of the book must have seen such a creature before. The likeness was amazing.

“No known magical powers, but manatees are sometimes confused with mermaids,” Gaius said pointing to the notes beside the sketch.

“Mermaids?” Merlin asked. “Are those the creatures who are known to call seafarers astray with their song?”

“The very ones,” Gaius said, examining the image in the book.

Merlin nodded, remembering that Morforwyn had told him this about his appearance.

“Mermaids take on a human form, except for their fish-like tails,” Gaius continued. “But the manatee doesn’t have a human form, or even a mermaid-like form. It’s an ocean-dwelling creature—more like a seal or a walrus. When I was younger, tales of the manatee were often brought to Camelot by men who earned their sustenance on the sea. Why do you ask about such an animal?”

“I don't know. Just thinking about manatees, I suppose,” Merlin said brushing the breadcrumbs from the table in front of him. 

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, I know you better than you think. Have you seen such a creature such as this manatee in your travels?”

“It’s hard to say,” Merlin said with a yawn, suddenly feeling tired from his journey. If Gaius thought Merlin needed time to recover from the shock of Arthur’s death, he’d certainly think that Merlin imagined the existence of the helpful manatee as a way to cope with his grief. He wasn't sure whether he should tell Gaius about Morforwyn and his soothing words. It was as if Merlin wanted to keep Morforwyn as a secret source of encouragement to be used by him alone when things got too difficult for him to handle.

“Merlin?” Gaius insisted.

“I’ve been alone by the lake at Avalon for days. I suppose it could be my imagination. There were so many shadows there and my eyes have been so… tired,” Merlin said. He glanced at Gaius, knowing his eyes were still red from crying so much over Arthur’s death.

Gaius nodded with understanding.

“The tower that rises above the lake was hidden by fog most of the time. I gazed at the shadows in the water, hoping so badly I'd see some sign that the Sidhe were there, no matter how much I dread asking them for help,” Merlin said.

“And this manatee appeared in the water?” Gaius asked gently, pulling out a chair to sit beside Merlin.

“You think I imagined it, don't you?” Merlin asked.

“Creatures such as the manatee are only known to dwell in the ocean. They need salt water. They don’t typically live in lakes like the one at Avalon. Although I do recall that a manatee was sighted there once before, but that was a long time ago,” Gaius said shaking his head.

Merlin wanted to know more. If the manatee was a true ally, maybe he could trust his advice when he asked for help in bringing Arthur back to life. Morforwyn seemed to think using the Horn of Cathbhadh was a better idea than Gaius did.

“Maybe it was a spirit of a dead manatee that I saw,” Merlin said grumpily. “Unless you think the water there is salty enough to sustain such a creature.”

“Well, I do recall learning that there was once a time when the lake at Avalon was connected to the ocean by a river that flowed broadly from this kingdom all the way to the waters of the sea,” Gaius said. “Sometimes, a ribbon of salted water flowed inward with the tides. Occasionally it stretched all the way to the lake at Avalon.”

“I didn't see any such river while I've been waiting by the lake,” Merlin said, “although my mind has been a bit preoccupied with other things.”

“If I recall correctly, the lake was sealed off from the ocean a long time ago,” Gaius said thoughtfully. “The river had narrowed one day when the land was torn in two by a rift in the seam of the earth. I was only a boy living in Ealdor back then, but I remember that the ground quaked and children ran for cover. Armies were readied, but the earth’s trembling only lasted for a few moments. Still, the tremor was so violent that it was felt it all the way from Camelot to Ealdor. Nothing has ever shaken the earth with such a force again.”

“So maybe the shift in the earth could have trapped the manatee in the lake?” Merlin asked. “The manatee did mention something about being land-locked.”

“I suppose it could have happened,” Gaius said. “Manatees typically live longer than most men, according to what it says in the book. And it could be the same manatee that was seen in the lake before.”

“He’s been there for a long time then,” Merlin said sleepily.

“He spoke to you?” Gaius asked. 

Merlin hoped that Gaius wouldn't think he had lost his sanity in the days he spent grieving by the lake.

“He did. He emerged by the lakeside at Avalon, where I brought Arthur,” Merlin said, remembering. “I think he likes living in the lake. The way he spoke, he sounded content to accept whatever fate had dealt to him despite being trapped there. He was happy with it—I must admit it was rather pleasant to encounter a creature who was satisfied with whatever may happen, instead of always wishing he could change things.”

“You've been through a lot in these past days,” Gaius said as he closed the book. “Perhaps you should try to get some sleep. You’ll be able to think more clearly after you’ve had a good night’s rest.”

Merlin yawned. The journey from Avalon to Camelot had left him exhausted, and arguing with Gaius over the Horn of Cathbhadh didn’t help matters. Arthur weighed heavily on his mind. After a night's rest, he'd find the Horn of Cathbhadh and return to the lake. He hoped his plan would work. At least he had the manatee's calming words to sooth him, even if he couldn't rely on Gaius to encourage him to use the horn.

Merlin bid Gaius goodnight and lay for a long time in his old bed in the room beside Gaius's workshop. His mind raced with worry over leaving Arthur in Morforwyn’s care at the lake. Before he settled down to dream, Merlin pulled his light blanket up to his chin. He tried not to imagine Arthur’s confusion if he rose from the lake without Merlin there to assure him that everything was going to be all right. Instead, he tried to remember Arthur as he knew him, proudly emerging from the lake when Merlin summoned him with the horn. He wondered if Arthur would ride in the wooden boat into which Merlin had sent him to rest or would he simply rise from the water.

Would Arthur be angry at having his peace disturbed? Or would he thank Merlin for bringing him back to life? Merlin thought he could accept the vagaries of Arthur’s whims, whichever reaction he decided to display. He yearned to see him again, to revel in the familiarity of his presence. The way the sunlight made his hair gleam just so, the way his muscles flexed beneath his tunic, giving Merlin the reassurance of his strength and worthiness to rule as king. In the morning, Merlin would search for the Horn of Cathbhadh, and by this time tomorrow, he would be one step closer to bringing Arthur back so he could unify Albion and bring Camelot to glory.

He didn’t count on facing the brunt of Gwen’s wrath.

~ ~ ~ 


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin had entered Arthur's chambers nearly every day for the past ten years. He took a deep breath outside the heavy wooden door behind which they had huddled countless times. In the past, they had always managed to escape their enemies, whether magical or human. It felt strange to be here without his partner in protecting Camelot.

Merlin wrapped his fingers around the cool metal latch, a familiar shape that fit precisely into the palm of his hand. The feel of it made him ache for the return of his king so that their lives could resume as normal. He closed his eyes and made a promise to all the gods that he would do everything in his power to help Arthur to continue his reign as a noble king, if only they would see fit to return Arthur to him.

Merlin whispered an enchantment so the latch rose silently. The door swung open slowly on its hinges, the creaking muffled by Merlin’s spell. To Merlin's surprise, the bed was empty. He had fully expected to find Gwen there, asleep in her grief, but this discovery made his job easier.

He strode to Arthur's side of the bed and tried the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet. You couldn't be the king's manservant for a decade without learning where he kept his secret possessions. The knob turned easily in Merlin's hand. He tugged the handle, opened the drawer, and bit his lip when he realized it was empty.

His hopes were dashed. Where could Arthur have hidden the horn, if not here? Could it still be somewhere in Gaius’s workshop? Did Arthur have another hiding place that Merlin didn’t know about? Was Gaius telling the truth when he told Merlin that he couldn’t help him?

Morforwyn came to Merlin’s mind. The sea creature had been so encouraging, so calming, Merlin knew he couldn’t give up his quest for the horn now. No, Merlin deemed this mistake about the horn’s location as a temporary inconvenience.

“Just a minor setback,” he whispered to himself with a nod, remembering how the sea creature encouraged him to go after the horn. “It’s here somewhere.”

He looked around the room. The scant moonlight washed the furniture in a dim glow that barely allowed him to distinguish it from the open space. A desk here, a table there, a chair he remembered storing away in Morgana’s old room a few weeks ago. Gwen must have had it brought to the king’s bedchamber. Who knew what other changes Gwen would bring upon the royal household? She’d be a much different ruler than Arthur in some ways, although they shared the same hopes for the success of Camelot.

Merlin tried to remember what had transpired a week ago when Arthur prepared to leave for Camlann, as if it would give some clue as to what Arthur had done with the horn after he and Merlin had returned from the Great Stones of Nemeton. It wasn‘t that long ago. He checked the washstand, the desk, the wooden bowl that decorated the table by the window.

While he was busy searching, he felt a pang of sorrow when he remembered the look on Arthur's face that night when he last visited this room. Having lost his magic, he had to tell Arthur that he wouldn't be joining him on that final journey into battle. Arthur's disappointment in him was palpable. It made Merlin wince to remember that Arthur had thought he was a coward, even after all that had passed between them since that night. 

If he found the Horn of Cathbhadh and brought Arthur back, he swore he'd never do anything to disappoint Arthur again.

Merlin checked the pile of discarded clothing that littered the floor behind Arthur's dressing screen, although he doubted Arthur would have kept the horn tucked away in his pocket as he went about the business of running the kingdom. He sifted through the garments, feeling for the shape of the horn. He grinned when he pulled a half-eaten fig from Arthur’s pocket, along with a handful of almonds that Merlin knew Arthur sucked on to pass time during the council meetings. There were few things about Arthur that Merlin didn’t know about.

Behind the dressing screen stood a chest of drawers that Merlin had seldom had reason to explore. The top drawer contained some scraps of parchment with scribbled notes in Arthur’s hand. It was too dark for Merlin to make out whether the words were important or not. He quickly moved on to the middle drawer, where a half dozen tournament medals from Arthur’s youth were stored. He knelt on the floor and tried the bottom drawer. He slid it open and there it was, exactly as he remembered it from when old woman had given it to Arthur in thanks for saving her from the pyre.

He lifted the horn from its hiding place and closed the drawer. Tiptoeing toward the door, he shoved the horn into his jacket pocket. When he reached for the latch, the door burst open.

“Merlin!” Leon said as his torch illuminated the room, casting light onto the furnishings, the untouched bedding, and Merlin’s face. “It's you!” Gwen stood at Leon’s side, looking none too pleased.

“Leon?” Merlin asked, shielding his eyes from the light.

Gwen clutched her fists to her chest. “Guards!” she called.

It all happened so fast.

“No, Gwen,” Merlin said. “It’s me, Merlin… your friend.”

Merlin cursed himself for not thinking about what he would say to Gwen in this moment. Now there was no time to plan.

“Gwen, I’m so sorry,” Merlin said the first thing that came to his mind—the first thing he thought Gwen would need to hear.

Gwen took three steps forward, raised her hand, and slapped Merlin across his face.

“Gwen, no,” Leon said, taking her hand and drawing her away. “No, you mustn't let him upset you.”

Instinctively, Merlin touched his cheek. The harsh slap didn’t hurt much physically, but it hurt Merlin’s heart to know that Gwen was so angry with him, to know that she'd never be able to forgive him for his failure to protect Arthur.

“Friend?” Gwen asked, her chest heaving with anger. “Arthur _thought_ you were his friend.”

“I was with him, Gwen,” Merlin said, tears welling in his eyes. “I tried to save him. I did everything I could.”

Merlin felt horrible about insisting he had done everything he could, knowing the mistakes he had made, particularly calling Kilgharrah too late to save Arthur.

“Did you use your _sorcery_ to try to save him?” Gwen spat out.

“Gwen,” Merlin said. “Please believe me. I’d never do anything to hurt Arthur or you.”

Outside the door a pair of Camelot’s guards arrived, but Leon stopped their progress with a raised hand.

“You’d never hurt him?” Gwen cried. “To think that I was pleased when Gaius told me that you were the sorcerer who intervened on Arthur’s behalf when his army was fighting the Saxons. What good was your magic when my husband drew his last breath? Did you even think to tell him you had magic that could save him? Did you never think to tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” Merlin said, wiping the fresh tears from his eyes. “I should have told you. You were my friend and I should have told you I had magic. You deserved to know.”

“But you didn't tell me! And you didn't use your power to save Arthur,” Gwen shouted, her eyes wild.

Leon, to his credit, tried to console Gwen by standing behind her and sliding his hands down her arms. The robe that covered her night dress fluttered with the motion of Leon's hands.

“Gwen, you don't understand—” Merlin said. He had never seen Gwen behave in this way before. Certainly, he had walked in on his share of rows between Gwen and Arthur over the years, but Gwen had always graciously excused herself before Merlin could blush with embarrassment over catching her and Arthur at a difficult moment. But this, this was something different. He had never seen her so furious.

“Understand this. Magic is still illegal in Camelot, Merlin,” Gwen said.

Gwen’s voice had taken on a sinister tone, one that Merlin never imagined could come from Gwen, not even when she was bespelled by Morgana.

“Gwen, please...” Merlin said. If only he could make her understand that he too was devastated by Arthur’s death and that he’d do anything to get him back.

“Guards!” Gwen cried. “Throw him in the dungeon, and use the cold iron restraints.”

Before Merlin could protest, two burly guards rushed past Leon and seized Merlin by his arms. In hindsight, Merlin should have used his magic to escape them. Instead, he struggled in their grip, utterly drained by sorrow.

“Gwen,” Merlin said as he strained against his captors' hold. “You don’t need to do this. I'm your friend.”

“Gwen, he’s right,” Leon said, trying to placate her.

“Take him away,” Gwen shouted. 

A guard struck the back of Merlin’s head with a clenched fist. Merlin saw stars at first, then only darkness.

The next thing Merlin remembered was the cold stone floor numbing his cheek.

His head ached.

He quirked open an eye and immediately recognized where he lay. He was no stranger to the dungeon below the citadel. The dank cell into which he had been thrown reeked of the familiar smell of mildew and rotting vegetables. He had just spent a night here a few weeks earlier. Arthur came to his rescue then, demanding that he be freed, refusing to believe that Merlin would betray him. Merlin knew he had Arthur’s trust then, when Arthur released him from the dungeon himself. Merlin had rewarded his king with a bright sleepy smile as he left the stone bench that had made up his bed for the evening. 

Merlin licked his lips, realizing how dry his mouth was. How long had he been in the dungeon, lying on the filthy floor?

He ached all over. His head throbbed, and it was obvious that the guards hadn’t been gentle when they threw him in his cell. His wrists were sore from the bruises he had caused to himself in his struggle to escape the men’s hold on him.

He could take inventory of his injuries later. His hand went instinctively to his pocket.

The Horn of Cathbhadh was gone.

Merlin let his head fall to the floor, disregarding the fresh pain that spread from the knot on his head. Bile rose in his throat. He tried to get onto his hands and knees to alleviate his sickness. As he clasped a hand across his mouth to keep from vomiting, his thumb brushed against the cold iron that encircled his neck. 

He choked out a sob and clutched at the iron ring, the metal cool on his fingers. Gwen did this to him. Gwen had fancied him when he first came to Camelot, but now she wanted nothing to do with him. For all Merlin knew, she wanted him dead.

Shaking in absolute terror, he tested his magic. His eyes flashed gold for an instant before searing pain coursed down his spine making him arch off the cold stone floor.

“No!” he screamed, his eyes shut tight against the pain.

Without his magic, he had no hope of freeing himself from the dungeon. No hope of finding what had become of the horn. No hope of bringing Arthur back.

His body shook with sobs.

In the dim light of the dungeon, Merlin retched. He cried when he thought of what would happen if the Sidhe had healed Arthur. Arthur would be waiting for him at the lake, wondering why he hadn’t returned to him. He had failed Arthur in so many ways that led to his death, but he had been given a chance to revive him, to make things better, to get Arthur back alive and whole. But he had failed at the task of acquiring the magical horn, too.

Merlin crawled to the corner of the dank cell where he found a bucket of water, a thin and tattered blanket, and a hard lump of bread. He cupped his hand into the water and took a drink, splashing it onto his face. The water dripped down, soaking his neckerchief and dampening the front of his tunic.

He grabbed the metal rungs of his cell door and pulled himself to his feet.

“Guards!” he screamed, rattling the gate on its hinges. There was a faint hope that maybe the dungeon's guards would be sympathetic to him. Maybe they'd believe he had nothing to do with Arthur's death. Maybe they'd set him free.

He listened for a guard’s footsteps, but he heard nothing in the corridor outside.

“Guards!” he called again, but there was only silence.

He sadly remembered what Gaius had told him about the limited number of men Camelot had to guard the castle. How long would it be before someone came to speak to him? Would he never see sunlight again, except for a view from the gallows? 

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself and paced back and forth in his cell. 

“Arthur,” he whispered. He wanted nothing more than to feel Arthur's reassuring grip on his shoulder. The familiar embrace that had so often signalled the end of battle, no matter how simple or how devastatingly important.

“Gaius!” he shouted, pushing thoughts of Arthur’s touch out of his head. 

When there was no answer, he strode to the back of the cell, turned and faced the cell entrance and whimpered, “Anyone?”

Frustrated with the silence, he kicked the loaf of bread toward the gate. Unsatisfied, he next kicked the water bucket, sending its contents splashing all over the stone floor. 

He was about to kick the blanket too, but it became entangled in his boot. He struggled to free it when he heard Morforwyn's voice emerging slowly and calmly from the puddle of water that spread across the stone floor.

“Merlin?” the manatee asked, his voice wafting through the dungeon, echoing off the lonely walls.

“Morforwyn?” Merlin asked, kneeling to peer into the pool of water from which the manatee spoke.

“Merlin, I’m so glad to see you. I came because I knew something was wrong,” Morforwyn said.

“You knew? You knew that Gwen is furious with me and she put me in cold iron so I can't use my magic to hurt anyone, and the horn….” Merlin wailed, burying his face in his hands. When his thumbs touched the circle of iron around his neck, he punched at it furiously with both fists, bloodying his knuckles. “I lost the horn that would have brought Arthur back to life.”

Merlin cried, his pitiful moans filling the hollow space of the dungeon.

“Merlin, it's okay,” Morforwyn said gently.

Merlin just sobbed quietly at the sound of Morforwyn’s voice.

“Look at me,” Morforwyn said. “Look me in the eyes.”

Merlin leaned closer and glanced at the manatee, its head bobbing just below the surface of the spilled water, its chubby body surrounded by a calming blue light.

“What am I going to do?” Merlin sniffed. “It's Gwen—she blames me for Arthur's death. And she's angry that I never told her I had magic. She hates me.”

“No, Merlin, she doesn’t hate you. Gwen feels pretty awful right now. She lost her husband. She has the fate of the kingdom resting on her,” Morforwyn said, raising a flipper out of the water. “There are always going to be people in your life who need help. And while I think you should help them as best you can, that’s the key to it—as best you can. At the end of the day, you’re only a person. You can provide support and love, but you can’t change the way they feel. That’s up to them.”

Merlin reached toward Morforwyn and grasped his flipper. The firm sea-flesh felt cool under Merlin’s hand, solid and strong. The gently bobbing of Morforwyn’s head mesmerized Merlin. It slowed Merlin’s breathing when he let the blue light flow over his face and into the dank cell.

“Sometimes you’re going to reach a point where you can’t help anymore without hurting yourself. And when that happens, you have to step back and look after yourself too. You are your own first priority,” Morforwyn said, stroking Merlin’s bloody knuckles with his flipper.

Tears slipped down Merlin’s cheeks when he listened to Morforwyn’s words. For so long, he hadn’t made himself a priority at all. Everything he had done had been for Arthur, for the destiny the dragon assured him would result in a bright future for all of Albion. He had forgotten about himself so long ago—his plans for the future, his needs, his desires.

“But what can I do from here?” Merlin asked. “I can’t do anything to help myself. I'm trapped and I think that Gwen and her men are going kill me. I deserve their hatred for not being able to save Arthur. I’m worthless to them. I’m worthless to everyone.”

Morforwyn rested his head on Merlin’s knees.

“Merlin, I know that sometimes you don’t feel so good about you,” Morforwyn said. “So for those days, just like today, I want to remind you that you are smart, you are good, and you are far braver than you think. You are important. And you are my favourite person. You are incredible for all you do. If you could see yourself the way that I see you, you would understand why I love you so much.”

“That sounds a bit ridiculous coming from a sea creature,” Merlin said with a sniffle.

“It's the truth, and you know it,” Morforwyn said. “You need to believe it yourself, and others will believe it too. You'll see.”

It had been a long time since Merlin received praise for anything he had done. Besides Arthur thanking him with his last breath, he couldn't remember a time when he wasn’t being criticised by Gaius or the dragon. The manatee’s words made him feel more confident in himself. They made him feel valued, even though Arthur wasn't alive to prove Merlin's success at protecting him.

“I need to get back to the lake now to check on Arthur and see if the Sidhe can help him,” Morforwyn said. “Do you think you'll be okay?”

Merlin felt better, but not _that_ much better. “Don't leave,” he said. “I need you to help me.”

“Everything is going to work out great,” Morforwyn said, his voice fading along with his image. “You are clever and you can do this. You are going to do great things.”

“But...” Merlin said. And Morforwyn faded into nothingness. Only the blue glow remained on the water. It swirled into a circle that grew ever smaller until it finally disappeared. One droplet of water splashed from the puddle and all evidence of Morforwyn's presence was gone.

Merlin got to his feet and squared his shoulders. It would be bad enough that he wouldn't be by the lakeside if Arthur returned, he didn't want Morforwyn to be gone too. If the Sidhe were able to work their magic on his king, Merlin would want a friendly face to greet Arthur when he emerged from the lake. If not him, the manatee would have to do.

Only moments after Morforwyn vanished, Merlin heard footsteps descending the stairs to the dungeon. He went to the metal gate, grasping the rungs with nervous hands. The cold iron weighed heavily on his neck, a reminder that he wouldn’t be able to rely on his old trick of using magic to dupe the guards.

“Guards?” Merlin shouted. He waited as the swiftly-approaching footsteps grew louder.

Merlin bit his lip and tried to think of something to do that would distract the guards long enough for him to escape, but without his magic, it was futile.

From the dark stairwell, the flash of a crimson Camelot cloak came into view.

“Leon?” Merlin asked with a gulp.

“Merlin, I came as soon as I could,” Leon said, nearly out of breath. He sorted through the jangling ring of keys he carried with him, finding the right one to unlock Merlin’s cell.

“But, Gwen,” Merlin said. “She put me here. She’ll be furious if you release me.”

Leon stopped twisting the key in the lock and raised an eyebrow toward Merlin. “Let me worry about Gwen,” he said.

“You know I tried to save Arthur,” Merlin said hurriedly while Leon worked. “We got to the lake and it was too late. Oh gods, how I wish I could have stopped Mordred in time.”

“I can only imagine how much you miss him,” Leon said as he withdrew the key and swung the cell door open.

“Leon, what is the meaning of this? Have you come to take me to the gallows? Is this what Gwen wants for me?” Merlin asked, trying to take Morforwyn’s words about his bravery to heart as Leon roughly grabbed him by the arm to drag him from the cell. He decided without much difficulty that he'd not crumple at the prospect of being hanged. If there was no way of getting to the lake with the Horn of Cathbhadh, he'd have no hope of bringing Arthur back. And a world without Arthur was something Merlin could not embrace. He'd boldly leave his life without regret, if Gwen's decision demanded his death. He proudly followed Leon beyond the threshold of the cell.

“She doesn’t mean what she says,” Leon said. “Being queen has been very hard on her.”

“This is not about being queen. She’s furious with me. You heard her. She thinks it’s my fault that Arthur is dead,” Merlin said.

“Let me see this,” Leon said, noticing the cold iron that encircled Merlin’s neck. He ran a finger along the iron band.

Merlin tilted his head back to give Leon a better look. Leon’s fingers worked swiftly trying to determine how the iron was fastened. He squinted his eyes narrow, his breath heavy on Merlin's neck.

“To think that I ever doubted it would work on me,” Merlin said. “It’s too painful for me to cast a spell as long as I’m wearing it.”

Leon nodded, his tongue poking out between his lips while he intently searched through the keys for one that might fit.

“I tried,” Merlin said.

“She’s a bit angry about the magic,” Leon said, choosing a key to try in the lock. “I’m surprised the guards were able to find the cold iron to restrain you so quickly.”

“Gaius wouldn’t have given it to her. As angry as he is with me, I know he doesn’t wish me that kind of harm,” Merlin said.

“No, I think Uther kept a collection of restraints in his chambers in case they were ever needed. Gwen must have told the guards where to find it,” Leon said as he tried yet another key.

“I shouldn’t have lied to her for all those years. She was my friend,” Merlin said as Leon slid the new key into the lock.

“She had been pleased when she found out you were with Arthur. She knew you’d put in a good effort to save him. She knows how you feel about him,” Leon said quietly. “And what his feelings were for you.”

Leon's words warmed Merlin. He was surprised that Gwen understood that Arthur had an appreciation for his manservant, when he usually did little else but tease and torment him daily. “I tried to save him,” Merlin said, “but my efforts weren't good enough.” The words died on Merlin's tongue when Morforwyn's assertions about Merlin’s incredible bravery and talent echoed back to him.

Maybe what Merlin had done for Arthur was enough? Maybe Merlin should feel proud that he had gotten Arthur as far as the lake? Maybe the Sidhe were working their magic on Arthur right now—they couldn't very well be healing him if Merlin hadn't at least gotten him to the lake.

“When Gwen learned of Arthur's death, she could only think of reigning as queen of Camelot—something she has dreamed of since she was a little girl,” Leon said thoughtfully as he worked on the lock. 

Merlin remembered well the Gwen he met when he first came to Camelot. “She'll be a good queen, she cares about people so much,” Merlin said. “When she's like herself.”

“Yes, but as the queen, she's under a lot of pressure. You've seen what the stress of it all has made her do to you—a friend. I don't think she could have anticipated how much becoming queen would affect her. Do you know how it is when you finally get something that you've dreamed about for so long? When everything falls into place and it’s so much more than you thought it would be?” Leon asked, shaking his head as he worked. “Some people can’t handle it. It’s just too much. The decisions that have to be made are just too overwhelming.”

Merlin tried to apply Leon's observations to himself. He supposed he'd be relieved if he was able to return Arthur to life, but his heart sank when he considered the magnitude of the task and what it would mean if he were successful. Arthur knew about his magic now. No matter how badly he hoped that he and Arthur could continue their lives as manservant and a king- the king who would lead Camelot to glory and the king who would rule over all of Albion- it seemed unlikely that Merlin would ever polish Arthur's armour or shine Arthur's boots again. Some things would never be the same between them and the least significant of those would be the tending to Arthur’s appearance. Fear welled up inside Merlin when he realized how their relationship would change. Arthur had pleaded with Merlin to hold him, to comfort him when he died. He tamped down the memory of it quickly, while he still could rely on Leon's attention to his restraints.

“I can only wish that she will be successful in ruling the kingdom in Arthur’s absence,” Merlin said, straining to lean back to give Leon more room.

“It's changed her,” Leon said, grunting as he worked the key. “And she is no more happy about it than I am.”

With one more nudge of the key, the iron fell from Merlin's neck and clattered to the stone floor.

“Leon?” Merlin asked, his gaze drawn to the iron.

Leon's lips curled into a thin smile.

Merlin looked from the iron band to Leon's face. “You... and Gwen?” he asked.

Merlin could barely see in the dark dungeon, but he could swear that Leon's cheeks flushed red.

“Merlin…” Leon said, casting his eyes down to the broken ring of iron that lay on the cell floor.

“You’re more than friends?” Merlin asked, the realization finally dawning on him.

“There's no need to act so surprised, Merlin,” Leon stammered. “You, of all people might know the loneliness of Gwen's marriage bed. It seems the king is most at peace when he's off on a hunt with you. Any fool could see the shallowness of their relationship in the absence of an heir.”

Merlin’s head ached. Whether it was from Leon’s revelation or the blow from Camelot’s guard, he couldn't say. For all the years that Arthur and Gwen had been together, he always assumed they were blissfully happy. Not that he had a lot of experience with married couples for comparison. He had never known his own parents when they were together. Certainly Gwen and Arthur seemed distant from each other many times, but for all Merlin knew, every married couple behaved this way.

“Leon, I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “I truly didn’t know.”

“I won’t have the queen’s honour questioned, but let’s call it even. You and Arthur aren't the only pair in this castle who share an interest in _poetry,_ ” Leon said.

Leon’s words punched the air from Merlin’s lungs. Surely Leon didn’t believe that Arthur and Merlin were lovers? It was too much for Merlin to take in. Yes, he had sworn to protect Arthur for all the days of his life and yes, he loved him as much as any man could love a brother, a fellow warrior, a king, but Leon’s impression of the pair of them was so far from the truth—

“I found this,” Leon said, and from beneath his cloak he drew the Horn of Cathbhadh, the key to Arthur’s return.

“Leon,” Merlin said. “I need that. It was the reason I entered Arthur's chambers.”

“I figured as much,” Leon said. “It fell from your pocket when you were scuffling with the guards. I knew it was important to you.”

“If I may have it,” Merlin said. “It might be the key to bringing Arthur back.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said. "There's no one with more investment in Arthur's return than you, but it's important for all of us."

Merlin reached for the horn and took it from Leon’s hand.

“I can’t make any promises,” Merlin said. “But this is our best hope for restoring Arthur to life.”

“It has to work, Merlin. The Saxons are gathering their troops even as we speak and I fear that they have new allies in their quest to overtake Camelot,” Leon said.

“You think the Saxons are waiting to attack, and adding to their strength while Camelot sleeps,” Merlin said. “I sense it too.”

“They know that Camelot’s forces have been weakened by the battle against Morgana and her armies,” Leon said. “Gwen… she means well.”

“I know,” Merlin said. “The threat of war with the Saxons would be too much for most men to handle. No one expects Gwen to be able to—”

“She’s a strong woman, Merlin,” Leon said.

“I know she is,” Merlin said, gripping Leon’s arm in reassurance. “No one doubts her ability or her competence. Under normal circumstances, she’d be a great leader. But you? What is your involvement with her? If she loves you, why is she so angry with me?”

“I think she sees your failure to save Arthur’s life as the incident that put her in this position,” Leon said.

“She could have just happily continued living with Arthur for the rest of her life, until I made the mistake of not getting him to the Sidhe in time,” Merlin said. “I think I understand.”

Leon nodded slowly. “Arthur… this is his kingdom through and through. I can’t bear to see it die because of Gwen’s indecision and inexperience, no matter how much I admire her. And if Arthur's allies take up sides with the Saxons, in hopes of receiving a share of Camelot's lands-”

“Arthur’s allies… they already doubt the power of the kingdom Arthur built? His body is barely cold,” Merlin said.

“I fear that they don’t hold Gwen in the same esteem that they held Arthur. Arthur is of noble birth. Gwen would never be able to command the respect of Camelot’s allies. The old guard of Uther’s day will always see her as nothing but a serving girl turned queen,” Leon said. “Arthur’s allies, Rodor, Olaf, Annis… they have only recently sworn their loyalty to Arthur. How long will their new alliance last when Camelot dangles like sweet fruit ready for the plucking?”

“There are worse threats than those from the families of Mithian and Vivian,” Merlin said. “What of the Sarrum of Amata? Those monsters would attack their own mothers if given the chance.”

“Arthur’s enemies will grow, when he can’t keep them in check,” Leon said. “They plot to divide Camelot and share the spoils among themselves.” 

“We can't let that happen. It's everything Arthur worked for,” Merlin said.

“If you have a solution, you need to follow through with it,” Leon said.

Merlin gripped the horn tightly in his hand. “I think I can bring Arthur back,” he said.

“Then you must do it,” Leon said. “Go. For the sake of all of us, go. Arthur would want you to go to him, I know he would.”

“Thank you, Leon,” Merlin said, meaning it with all of his heart.

Merlin headed for the stairs with Leon. As they climbed, Merlin realized that he had been knocked out for most of the morning. He tentatively touched the knot on the back of his head. It felt tender and swollen, but he didn’t feel any dried blood.

The sun was high when they reached the gate to the courtyard. Merlin could feel its warmth, even though it barely burned through the grey overcast of midday. Merlin trusted that Leon would shield him from any passers-by who wanted to do him harm. He followed the red billowing cloak that distinguished Leon as a knight of Camelot, arriving in the stables without attracting anyone’s notice.

“I can’t leave Camelot to go with you,” Leon said. “And there are few horses to spare after what happened at Camlann.”

“I can go on foot, but it will take me longer. I won’t reach the lake until tomorrow,” Merlin said.

“Saddle Dunraven for me,” Leon told the stableboy, after choosing a sturdy bay from its stall.

“I can take you as far as the Ealdor crossroads,” Leon said. “That ought to give you a good start. You’ll make it to the lake at Avalon by sunset if we hurry.”

Merlin sighed with relief at Leon’s willingness to help him.

“The guards are back on duty,” Merlin said as he stood at the stable door, watching the changing of the patrol in the courtyard. He recognized a few of the younger guards and wondered how many old faces had been lost to battle in the past week.

“Only Gwen herself could give the order to stop you now,” Leon said, scanning the newly-arrived guards in the courtyard. “And I’ll see to her if she tries to make that happen.”

“Thank you. I hope she won’t be angry for your absence this afternoon,” Merlin said, turning to stroke Dunraven’s nose. “She needs you.”

Leon nodded and gave the saddle a tug. “You have the horn?” he asked.

Merlin patted his jacket pocket and said, “I’ll get it to Arthur safely, with your help. And, Leon, he’d be proud that he selected you as the leader of his knights.”

Leon mounted Dunraven and gave Merlin a hand to haul him onto the horse’s back. With a nudge of his heels, Leon urged the horse forward, Dunraven’s hooves clattering across the courtyard. Together the men rode from the citadel, leaving Camelot without raising any alarm among the guards.

The early afternoon passed too slowly for Merlin’s liking. The beat of galloping hooves beneath them never seemed to be taking them across the land fast enough. Whether it was the long stretch of road that seemed to span endlessly before them or the incomprehensible thought that Gwen had taken a liking to Leon while Arthur still shared their marriage bed, Merlin’s mind was in turmoil.

Merlin had always thought of Leon as a fine man. His loyalty to Arthur had never come into question. He’d even been known to ignore Merlin’s well-being if paying attention to his distress meant abandoning a quest or disobeying Arthur’s word. Gwen was fortunate to have someone as dedicated as Leon to help her after Arthur’s death. Although Merlin had never worried himself about the stability of Arthur and Gwen’s marriage before, now that it had been brought to his attention, he became even more concerned about what would happen to Leon and Gwen if he successfully returned Arthur to life.

Would Gwen continue to carry on with Leon? Would Arthur be crushed to learn that Gwen had so easily moved on from his death to find a new mate? Arthur was beside himself in anguish when Gwen chose Lancelot over him all those years ago. How would Merlin comfort Arthur, _if_ he were able to bring him back to life and _if_ he found it necessary to shed light on the new happenings in Camelot? He hoped that Arthur would listen to him without blame, despite the difficult news he’d have of the days that passed since he entrusted him into the care of the Sidhe.

On Leon and Merlin rode into the late afternoon, with Merlin curling his fingers under the back of the saddle to attain a secure grip. He occasionally shifted in his seat to take hold of Leon’s shoulders, as they’d engage in conversation about how many men had been lost in the battle, how sad they both were about what happened to Gwaine, and whether Leon thought Gwen might ever see fit to lift the ban on magic in Camelot. The conversation regarding magic was too much for Merlin to think about. He half expected Leon to ask if Merlin could turn him into a toad, such was the knight’s new understanding of Merlin’s powers.

When Merlin’s thighs burned so much that he thought he couldn’t ride any longer, he recognized the last stretch of road on their way to the intersection with the road to Ealdor. Leon unexpectedly slowed Dunraven to a halt and motioned for Merlin to keep quiet. Ahead, on the road, Merlin could see a bustle of activity taking place. There seemed to be some sort of meeting in progress at the intersection. Merlin could make out the men in Saxon garb as Leon urged Dunraven into the brush at the side of the road.

“I can keep us hidden,” Merlin said, assuring Leon that he could keep them safe.

“I had nearly forgotten,” Leon said, although Merlin wasn’t sure whether he truly believed him, but there was no time to doubt Leon’s sincerity. Merlin shepherded both Leon and Dunraven into the dense stand of trees, whispering a spell to keep them hidden from the Saxon's view. When they were secure, Merlin tethered Dunraven to a tree and crept through the forest with Leon to where they could get a better view of the action at the crossroads as it unfolded.

Ahead, on the road, the Saxon warriors stood guard over a meeting between enemies. Merlin recognized Cerdic, the Saxon king, his pewter crown heavy upon his head as he spit through the matted length of his beard, a sword ready in his hand. Across from him stood a familiar visitor to Camelot. Merlin recognized King Godwyn’s emissary from the time he accompanied the king to Camelot in years past with Princess Elena. Merlin worried that the situation with Camelot's allies was just as Leon had told him it would be. Arthur’s former allies had ridden through the realm to ally with the Saxons, all part of their plan to claim a slice of Camelot for their own.

If King Godwyn had sent a party to negotiate with the Saxons, how many had come before them?

And how many would come after?

Elena’s father couldn’t be blamed for wanting a portion of Camelot to add to his own kingdom. After all, Arthur had rejected Elena’s hand in marriage all those years ago. She had yet to marry, as far as Merlin knew. The bad blood between the families had probably weighed heavily on King Godwyn’s mind for years. The anger was not enough to go to war over, but enough to make a father take the Saxon’s side—with Arthur dead and Elena’s rival wearing the crown of Camelot.

“Love,” Leon said, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Love?” Merlin asked, confused by the interruption of his thoughts about impending war.

“I understand now the things that one will do for love. How many princesses had been rejected by our own _Princess_ before he married Gwen?” Leon asked.

Merlin felt a pang of sorrow for Gwaine whose taunts had so easily become part of the language of knights. “Gwaine,” he said with affection, giving Leon a half-hearted smile.

“You see what I mean, though,” Leon said. “It's no surprise to me that the fathers of the shunned princesses are out for Gwen's blood. They have no alliance with her.”

“But you... and Gwen,” Merlin said. “You fear you’ll lose her if Arthur returns.”

“Sometimes, a man needs to do what he feels is right, no matter the consequences he may suffer. If you can bring Arthur back, it would be enough to keep peace in Camelot and in all the realm,” Leon said.

Merlin watched Leon's lips go thin. Of course bringing Arthur back might ruin a future Leon had planned with Gwen. But to fail could mean the dissolution of the Camelot he had worked so hard to defend.

“I never underestimated Arthur’s power to unify the kingdom,” Merlin said. “I assure you, if I can bring him back to life if I get to the lake, he'll do what's right.”

“I fear that Godwyn won’t be the first of Arthur’s allies to turn against him in death,” Leon said as he gazed down the road at the Saxons. “Even if he does return, we may not have enough men to defeat the Saxons and their new allies.”

Merlin nodded in agreement. It made sense that the allies Arthur had made would not uphold their agreements with Gwen in charge, especially if she was perceived to be as unstable as Gaius had insinuated. The threat of Camelot’s demise strengthened Merlin’s resolve to return to the lake and to summon Arthur with the horn. If there was ever any doubt in his mind about whether it was the right thing to do, it was allayed by the appearance of Godwyn’s emissary. He had to get to the lake, and quickly.

“Thank you for bringing me this far,” Merlin said, after they invisibly watched Cerdic and his army of men disband and ride off in their opposite directions.

With a whispered spell, he made Leon and Dunraven visible again.

“Godspeed to you, Merlin,” Leon said. “I wish you luck in your task. I sincerely mean that. For Gwen's sake... for all our sakes.”

Merlin clasped Leon’s arm as a sign of their brotherhood. Merlin recognized the waver in Leon’s voice and only could imagine what boldness of spirit it took for him to wish earnestly for Arthur’s return. What Arthur's return might mean to Leon and his love for Gwen, Merlin could only imagine.

Merlin hoped that Leon would tell Gwen about their discovery of the Saxon's new allies. Perhaps it would spur her to defend the kingdom, but Merlin feared that it would already be too late.

Camelot’s forces were brutally weakened by Morgana’s war, and Godwyn’s men simply sought to finish the job. If Godwyn was here already negotiating with the Saxons, would Annis and Rodor be far behind? And what of King Olaf and the other lords of the land whose daughter’s hands in marriage hadn’t been joined with Arthur’s in marriage? If love was a reason enough to engage in this negotiation of dividing Camelot’s lands, then what other shunned families who had sought Arthur as a suitor would follow?

Merlin watched Leon ride down the road toward Camelot. He was an honourable man and Merlin wished with all his might that he could help Gwen to see what was coming next. He regretted that there was nothing further that he could do to help Leon in his dealings with Gwen, but he had a challenge of his own to face. Merlin touched his pocket where the horn was safely stowed away. He pressed gently with his fingers, feeling its outline, a surge of hope for Arthur’s return welling in his chest. If he hurried, he’d be at the lake by sunset.

Merlin set off down the road to Avalon, its surface scarred by a dual track of wagon wheels left by travellers who had made the journey across the kingdom. His head throbbed with every step, the blood pounding through the achy bump he received from Camelot’s guard.

He put the pain out of his mind as he walked. He’d have to suffer far worse agony than the twinge in his head to keep him from the lakeside, to keep him from Arthur, his king. He had sworn that he would protect Arthur, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. And he was willing to do just that this time, just like every other time. He had sworn it to Arthur, and that promise he made as they stood on the doorstep of a great battle became his duty that day and every day after.

What if Arthur became cross with him for stealing the horn from his chambers?

The thought of Arthur’s surly tone made Merlin smile. _“Merlin,”_ he’d say,“only an idiot would allow himself to be thrown into the dungeon by a… girl!”

Leave it to Arthur to be an insufferable prat, even after Merlin brought him back from the dead. Merlin dwelled on the thought, the memory of Arthur’s voice wafting through the corners of his mind. He turned over each memory of it as he strode past trees and boulders, each step bringing him closer to his goal. He wrapped his thoughts around the velvet sound of Arthur's words as the road curled through the countryside, over rolling hills and through the dark hidden places of the forest, no Saxons in sight and no plan for what to do with them if they did start an altercation with him. Arthur’s voice swam through his head, as if it were only yesterday that he last heard the cherished sound. Sometimes the voice chided him for being a terribly inefficient servant, but sometimes the voice sounded so warm and tender that Merlin could barely bring himself to consider that he might never hear it again.

Merlin shook off the sorrowful thought. Instead, he remembered Morforwyn and his insistence that Merlin would succeed at bringing Arthur back. He increased the length of his stride across the damp roadway, thinking all the while of what it would be like to have Arthur by his side again. In all Merlin's life he had known no other purpose but to protect Arthur from harm. Something about it felt right as he walked faster. The broken pieces of his universe were sliding back into their proper place. It soothed him like the comfort of sending magic from his fingertips after needing to restrain it for a long period of time.

Around the next bend in the road, Merlin made his way closer and closer to Avalon. Merlin hoped that Arthur wouldn’t be angry with Leon, or with Gwen. Leon could hardly be blamed for wanting to help Gwen in the tragedy of Arthur’s death. And Gwen, she had little experience in running a kingdom. Together they didn't have much of a chance in upholding Arthur's legacy. It was a great comfort to Merlin that at least the pair could find some solace in each other after Arthur's death. It would serve them well in case Merlin wasn’t successful with the Horn of Cathbhadh that weighed both heavily in his pocket and on his mind.

Merlin suspected Leon hadn’t had much opportunity to forge a relationship with a girl in Camelot. Who had time for a girl, anyway, Merlin wondered. Arthur barely had time for Gwen, and she was his wife. Merlin knew that he himself hadn’t found time or opportunity to be with anyone. He remembered the time when an enchanted Gwen had told Arthur that Merlin had a girl he was meeting. It disturbed him how easily Gwen had lied about it when the thought of it was ludicrous to him. No, he hadn’t been able to think about giving his heart to another since Freya’s death. Not when his days were filled with serving Arthur, with protecting him from harm, with ensuring he would become a great king.

Faster and faster, Merlin walked, practically ran across the hills that led to Avalon. At the forefront of his mind was the purpose of his journey, to bring Arthur back, to return to the life he knew before the war with Morgana took over their lives, before Mordred dealt Arthur his fatal blow. Back to the time when everything about Arthur filled Merlin’s days. Merlin would tend Arthur’s needs from dawn to dusk. They made an odd pair, Merlin supposed—a great king and his manservant who possessed magical powers that his highness could know nothing about. Somehow, it worked for them to share their lives—the sorrow of losing their fathers, the exhilaration of a battle won, the affection they shared for each other in times of strife as well as in jubilation. 

Indeed, Merlin’s most joyous memories were the times he spent in deep confidence with Arthur, both of them working toward the same goal. Their enemies were shared in times of danger, just as in times of happiness Merlin shared in Arthur’s joy—when he became king, when he embraced Merlin finding him alive, when he caught Merlin’s eye from across a smoky campfire. Despite the threat of an insurmountable battle, the blue of Arthur’s eyes filled Merlin to the brim with a happiness that Merlin knew not how to put into words.

Over the rolling hills, the narrow tract worn to dust by hooves, Merlin glimpsed the tower that rose from the island where he had last left his king’s side. A breathless laugh escaped his chest, the thrill of arriving on the shore so he could use the horn suffused him with a joy that he had nearly forgotten in the days that passed without his king. 

Being with Arthur was a sacred joy, the only joy Merlin ever allowed himself in Camelot. Sometimes when he lay awake in his narrow bed at night, he’d replay the events of the day, the roughhousing, the secret looks, the casual melting of boundaries between servant and king. He remembered those feelings now, and they came back with even more force than they had when Arthur was alive.

Merlin could hide these feelings that Arthur stirred in him with much more ease than he could his magic. The magic took more of his time to conceal, more of his effort, so the tender feelings of Merlin’s heart stayed buried deep within him.

But now, with his magic revealed as Arthur’s heart beat through its final days, the tension of keeping Merlin’s secret was released. He could relax for the first time, even though he knew Arthur may soon die. The moments of freedom were addictive, dizzying, and he yearned to experience them again.

What would it be like to laugh with Arthur now? To be free of his secret of magic with Arthur healthy and whole? Not for the first time, Merlin imagined Arthur’s lips curled into a smile, Arthur’s hot breath on his neck, Arthur’s hands on him as he came undone, something previously unattainable that suddenly seemed within reach.

Just over the next hill.

He ran to the lake, his boots splattering mud onto his breeches. Slipping through the grass, he dropped to his knees, the wetness staining them black. He wrestled the horn from his pocket, put it to his lips and blew.

~ ~ ~ 


	4. Chapter 4

The horn sounded loud and clear just as Merlin remembered it had when Arthur summoned Uther back from death. Echoing through the forest, the constant tone of the horn sent the birds alight. The tone wafted from the shore to the treetops as Merlin now summoned his king.

When he felt his lungs empty of breath, Merlin lowered the horn, his chest rising and falling quickly as he panted in the fresh air. He chastised himself for refusing to wait for Morforwyn to appear at the lakeside. Perhaps the manatee would have assured him that it was safe to proceed with the horn’s call. But Merlin’s desire to bring Arthur back, to see his king again, was impossible to put off any longer. His body thrummed with anticipation. With the horn in his possession, Merlin could fulfil the one task at which he would surely succeed. The hope he had for this task’s completion had tormented Merlin intensely over the days he had been separated from Arthur. He couldn’t bear to wait one moment longer.

Not even the appearance of his spirit animal could stop him from calling for Arthur now.

Tonight, the lake looked like a polished mirror of glass. No ripple indicated any action below the surface, either by Arthur or the Sidhe. Not even Morforwyn with his love for the water could be seen disturbing the flat surface of the lake.

All was silent.

Frustrated at the prospect of another imminent failure, Merlin raised the horn to his lips and blew again. Over the past day, he had been able to put aside his guilt over not calling Kilgharrah in time to help Arthur. He travelled through the forest alone, tentatively forgiving himself for what he perceived as a great misstep that cost Arthur his life. But now, the same feeling of guilt began to creep up on him, taking firm hold of his memory. The certainty that he was responsible for Arthur’s death was unbearable. It made Merlin more determined than ever to draw his king from his resting place. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, his cheeks red with the effort, as the horn sounded over the still water. If only Arthur would appear, Merlin swore that he would never make such a mistake again.

Merlin scanned the surface of the lake as the low moan from the horn echoed through the forest. The foggy mist of dusk had descended almost to the water, hiding the tower from view. Darkness was falling fast and Merlin soon would be left alone again on the shore, with his grief as his only companion.

“Arthur,” Merlin called when his lungs emptied of air, his eyes blinking as they watched the water. “Arthur, come back to me… please.”

The silence made Merlin’s heart fill with despair. The horn didn’t work. Merlin groaned in disbelief. The lake remained still with no indication of Arthur being summoned. It was as if everything Merlin had done to get the horn to revive Arthur had been for naught.

Still clutching the horn, Merlin fell back onto his arse and sat on the muddy shore, tears welling in his eyes again for the loss of his beloved king. He looked to the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs. There were no words, only an incoherent flurry of syllables now that there was no dragon to call and no hope left in Merlin’s heart. His wailing only made his head ache worse.

Merlin didn’t notice the wake that the manatee’s path left in the water until Morforwyn flopped onto the shore beside him.

“Merlin, I'm so happy to see you!” Morforwyn shouted, the splash of water soaking Merlin’s clothes as the manatee beached himself.

Merlin shuddered under the unexpected onslaught of water. He was surprised to see the look of glee on Morforwyn’s whiskered face.

“What is it?” Merlin asked through his anguish. He didn’t know whether to lament the horn’s failure or to wonder what the manatee could possibly have to say to him now that he had failed to summon Arthur with the horn.

“You just need to wait a tiny bit longer and you’ll see,” Morforwyn said, resting his flipper on Merlin's lap. “I know things are tough for you right now, but it will get better real soon. We just need to take things one step at a time. Everything is going to turn out great. You just need to be a little more patient.”

“Patient? For what?” Merlin asked with a sob. “I’m a failure!”

“Hey there, please don't say such mean things about yourself. That's my favourite person you're talking about. Just watch, and see,” Morforwyn said gently as he turned his face to the water.

Merlin couldn’t understand why the creature gazed back toward the lake. Nothing disturbed the surface, although Merlin could barely see through his teary eyes.

“I don’t see anything,” Merlin said, scanning the lake.

“You should have waited longer, but I think they’ll show themselves anyway,” Morforwyn said. “At least, I hope they will. Just watch.”

Merlin moved Morforwyn’s flipper aside and got to his feet to have a better look at the water. The fog swirled close to the lake and the hazy sun had already dipped well below the horizon.

“What is it, Morforwyn?” Merlin asked, getting agitated. Why would the manatee insist that he look at the lake when there was nothing there to see? “The horn didn’t work, or Arthur would be here by now. That’s how it happened with Uther. He came right after Arthur called him, walked right up to him as if he were waiting to be summoned.”

“Enough about Uther! He doesn’t matter now. Remember what I told you about the water, Merlin,” Morforwyn said, his voice calm and reassuring.

Merlin thought about the water and what Morforwyn had told him when they first met. He turned the horn over in his hand, rolling the thin mouthpiece between his fingers.

“The amazing thing about the water is that you always get what you need?” Merlin asked.

“That’s right, Merlin. And it’s so very true. You just have to believe that you deserve the things you need,” Morforwyn said.

“But I’ve failed.” Merlin sobbed. “I failed to keep Mordred from Arthur. I failed to get Arthur to the lake in time, and now I’ve failed to summon him with the Horn of Cathbhadh. I don’t deserve anything.”

“Oh, but you do, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “You’re not a failure to me. I love you so much. You’re smart, and you’re pretty. Everyone deserves something as simple as happiness—even you.”

Merlin sniffled. He didn’t mind the manatee telling him how smart and pretty he was, even if he didn’t believe that others saw him that way. But deserving of happiness? “No, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to deserve being happy,” he said.

“Of course you have,” Morforwyn said. “You just need to believe in yourself as much as I believe in you. Then you’ll find your true happiness.”

“But I don’t think anything will make me believe in myself,” Merlin said. “There’s no reason to anymore.”

“Think, Merlin,” the manatee said, “what would make you happiest? What is it that you really want? The one thing you’ve wanted for your whole life.”

“To protect Arthur,” Merlin said sadly. He lowered his head, taking his eyes off the water.

“Yes, you’ve always wanted to protect Arthur, but that’s not all. That’s just what you’ve been telling yourself for all these years. It’s the idea that the dragon Kilgharrah put into your head,” Morforwyn said with frustration. “What is it that _you_ want, Merlin, something that’s just for you alone, deep down. Think. What will bring you the greatest joy?”

Merlin thought hard about what would make him happiest, but he could only come up with Arthur’s return to Camelot.

“Think about yourself, Merlin,” the manatee said. “Only what matters to you. Don’t worry about what anyone else wants.”

Of course that made Merlin think of the other people in his life more strongly than ever. He thought about Gwen, how even though Arthur was dead, she had found happiness with Leon. He shook his head when he remembered Arthur promising himself to her. Merlin was so happy for his king, but now after he learned that Gwen could move on so easily… it hurt Merlin to think of how sad Arthur would be if he knew….

“Your happiness, Merlin,” Morforwyn kept rambling. “What is the source of your greatest joy? And please don't tell me that you are not pretty enough, strong enough, tough enough, smart enough, good enough or whatever else. You are a great person. You deserve to have everything you want.”

Merlin tried hard to think of what brought him the greatest joy, but everything centred on his beloved king whose body he had set adrift in a wooden boat, hoping that the Sidhe would heal him in this very same lake.

“What brings you the most happiness?” Morforwyn asked, his voice patient and calming.

And then Merlin remembered.

He first acknowledged it when he had run to the lake with the Horn of Cathbhadh in his hand.

Arthur!

But not to be with Arthur as the king he must protect from harm, but to be with Arthur again and free from the secret of his magic. And not for two pitiful days while he tried to save Arthur’s life—but for always. To live a life with Arthur healthy and whole, their affection for each other intact.

It was _Arthur_ who brought Merlin his greatest joy—and not because Merlin was charged to protect him from his enemies. It was an idea that thrived on its own merit. To have Arthur by his side again with none of the secrets that had burdened Merlin since the day he had first met the prattish prince. Life with Arthur whose teasing words called him an idiot, but always made him smile. Arthur who would lay down his own life if it meant sparing Merlin from suffering any pain. Arthur, who Merlin ached to hold in his arms, the secret of his magic no longer an issue, and the secret of his love no longer pushed to the dim corners of his heart.

“Arthur,” Merlin said. “I love Arthur.” A hiccup of laughter escaped from Merlin’s chest. He had never felt so free as he did when he could give voice to that which brought him his greatest joy.

“The amazing thing about the water is that you always get what you need,” Morforwyn said as calmly as ever. “The water, Merlin, it will make you feel so free. It’s a lot like love.” 

“I need to go into the water?” Merlin asked.

Morforwyn nodded toward the lake. “It couldn’t hurt,” he said.

Merlin set the horn down and quickly tugged off his boots and socks, throwing them onto the shore in a heap. Without hesitation he picked up the horn and stepped into the lake, the muddy bottom squishing between his toes. Thinking better of it, he stripped off his jacket and tossed it to the shore as well. He waded a few steps forward and stopped.

“Are you coming?” he asked Morforwyn.

“Gladly,” Morforwyn said as he pushed himself off the shore with his powerful tail.

Merlin waded a few steps further, the water rising over his knees. He didn't care that his only breeches got wet. Wiping away the last traces of his tears, he watched the water, hoping that Morforwyn’s proclamation meant good news. He sensed the manatee’s body swimming nearby, gracefully weaving circles around him where he stood.

And then, just when Merlin thought he might need to blow the horn again just for good measure, he saw it.

A glimmer of light rose to the surface of the lake. First one, then two, and Merlin wondered if it was a trick of the rising moon or if his eyes deceived him. Then three, then four, five, then an explosion of lights made their way from the depths to where the water met the air.

Morforwyn swam beside Merlin and startled him when he raised his head above the water, despite his calming presence at Merlin’s side beneath the lake.

“Are they what I think they are?” Merlin asked, gathering himself.

“They are the Sidhe,” Morforwyn said, “they’re here, just like you wished they would be.”

Merlin breathed quickly, filled with new hope. His magic swirled through him, threatening to escape from his fingertips if he were brave enough to let it challenge the Sidhe.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked. “Can they heal Arthur?”

“Let's see what they have to say,” Morforwyn said. “It’s a bit complicated.”

But there was no time for Merlin to ask what the Sidhe had planned. Their tiny wings broke the surface of the water, sending droplets into a whirlwind of rain that dotted the lake with circles of wavelets. Merlin raised a hand to shield his eyes from the spray, the horn gripped tightly in the other. When the Sidhe’s barrage stopped, Merlin could see clearly again. In the centre of the lake, not ten yards from where Merlin stood with the water soaking his breeches and darkening the hem of his tunic, a head of wet golden hair broke the surface of the water.

At first Merlin couldn’t believe his eyes. But there was no mistaking the familiar way Arthur’s lips spat a spray of water to clear his mouth. He rose from the lake’s depths, gaining a footing, the droplets cascading from the hair plastered dark against his forehead as he emerged.

“Arthur?” Merlin gasped. Fresh tears clung to his eyelashes as he strode forward, his legs heavy in the deepening water.

A small laugh of disbelief sputtered from Arthur’s mouth. His lips had gone blue from the cold and Merlin wished he had a cloak to wrap around him. He supposed his jacket would have to suffice when they reached the shore. Above the water, the fairylight from the Sidhe illuminated Arthur’s naked shoulders where they rose from the water of the silvery lake.

The tiny Sidhe spirits darted about in the chilly air, making Merlin want to bat them away when they flitted in front of his eyes, blocking his view of Arthur arisen.

“Watch out,” Morforwyn said as a bright green Sidhe with glowing wings descended swiftly through the air to take a swipe at Merlin’s head.

Merlin turned just in time to deflect the Sidhe’s attack with a strand of magic unleashed from his fingertips. He sent the spirit spinning across the lake before the fairy could regain control of his flight.

“I warned you that they don’t always behave like you want them to,” Morforwyn said with a sigh.

Merlin remembered that Morforwyn had told him that the Sidhe liked to be entertained. He supposed that’s why they kept flitting around his head, threatening to disrupt his reunion with Arthur. Merlin was happy for the diversion when Morforwyn dove beneath the surface. The Sidhe followed him, the faint glow of their fairy bodies trailing after Morforwyn as he swam into deeper water.

Merlin felt like he could finally breathe again.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice fond. “I had a feeling you’d come back for me.”

“Arthur?” Merlin said, the sound of his name rolling off his lips like a prayer.

“I’m relieved to know that you’re not nearly as useless as you led me to believe,” Arthur said, “especially under these circumstances.”

Merlin stopped where he stood, the water surging over his thin leather belt. He was overcome with the urge to rush toward Arthur, to embrace him and never let him go. But he had to be sure that this was really Arthur. There was something unfamiliar about the man that made him hesitate. It worried him enough to stop moving through the water toward him. Struggling for what to do next, Merlin remained frozen in place. He wanted to be sure that this was Arthur and that no harm would come to either of them, as it had when the Horn of Cathbhadh had been used to summon Uther.

“Of course I came back for you, you miserable prat,” Merlin said with a tiny laugh, thinking of no better way to let Arthur know how much he missed him than to resume their gentle banter.

Arthur smiled and watched Merlin with the same heated affection that he always did.

“Arthur, is it really you?” Merlin asked unsteadily. More than anything now, he worried that Arthur would suffer the same effect that the horn had rent on Uther. He couldn’t bear it if Arthur began to hurl insults at him, ungrateful for all that he had done to bring them to this point. He looked for Morforwyn in hopes of getting some reassurance, but the manatee lumbered through the deep water, followed by the playful Sidhe.

“Merlin, look at me. I can tell you’re scared. I promise I won’t hurt you,” Arthur said.

Arthur had undoubtedly remembered the trauma he suffered when he summoned Uther. He had hoped that his father would be proud of him, but instead he received only discouragement. Merlin nodded, accepting Arthur’s promise. He knew Arthur would never hurt him.

“Arthur, it worked,” Merlin said, holding the horn in his outstretched hand. “And you're really here. I used the horn to summon you.”

Merlin bit his lip in worry, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t be angry at him for bringing him back from the dead. He watched the way Arthur moved as he stepped toward him, his shoulders bare and glistening in the fairylight as the Sidhe and Morforwyn slowly dove and breached around them. He wanted to go nearer to Arthur, to hold him, to caress his face, his brow, his hair.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I thought you realized. The horn didn’t work,” Arthur said resolutely. “The manatee was supposed to tell you, but I see he is occupied.”

Arthur turned around to look for Morforwyn who frolicked in the waves with the Sidhe. They swam in circles around Arthur and Merlin as they stood in the middle of the lake. 

It was then that Merlin noticed what was different about Arthur. His skin had taken on the shimmer of the fairylight. It gleamed as if Arthur was a solid form, but upon closer inspection, his skin became transparent. Merlin could see through his body to watch the Sidhe’s lights when they chased Morforwyn into the distance. Arthur was right. The horn didn’t work. Arthur was still dead. Merlin could see right through him.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I thought the horn worked. I’m so sorry I failed you again.”

Merlin couldn’t bear the pain of disappointing Arthur a second time. He shrank away, stepping backward as the mud worked its way between his toes. His one true purpose that had been his goal since he came to Camelot from Ealdor had been rendered unsuccessful again.

He buried his face in his hands, dropping the useless horn into the water.

For Merlin, it was as if he had suffered Arthur’s death a second time. This time was more painful than the first because of his dashed hopes. Again, Merlin mourned for the people who had lost their lives so that Arthur could bring peace and security and the acceptance of magic to the realm. Friends and fellow magic users, they deserved better than this. Merlin felt as responsible for their loss as he did for Arthur’s death. If only he had stopped Mordred at Camlann, instead of listening to Arthur’s plea for reinforcements. Now, the Camelot he knew would die with Arthur, just as he had feared.

All his work, all his hopes, it had all been for nothing.

And love?

Now Merlin had lost any chance for winning Arthur’s love. The freedom that he dreamed about, the one sacred joy that he had confessed to Morforwyn, it was lost forever now. How could this wreck of his life ever be made right? He may as well sink to the depths and breathe the water into his lungs, forgetting that anyone ever believed he was the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “don’t be such an idiot.”

Arthur swiftly closed the distance between them and took Merlin in his arms, stopping him from moving backwards. The water swirled around them. He pulled Merlin close, nudging his head into the crook of his neck.

Merlin collapsed in a fit of sobbing, his hands clutching Arthur’s wet shoulders that felt real, despite the transparency of his flesh. He tried to speak, but his mouth was pressed against the cool skin of Arthur’s chest. Breathing in Arthur’s familiar scent, Merlin was grateful for the reminder of how it felt to be close to him, even if he would never live again.

“Shhh,” Arthur said, stroking Merlin’s hair, his voice a comfort in Merlin’s ears despite the failure of the horn. “You didn’t fail me. You never have.”

“I tried so hard,” Merlin finally managed, “how could it not have worked?”

“The horn?” Arthur asked, pulling away from Merlin, but keeping one arm wrapped around his waist while he snatched the horn from where it floated in the water.

“It was supposed to bring you back from the dead,” Merlin said, daring to make eye contact with Arthur for the first time since he recognized something was amiss.

Arthur shook his head slowly. “This is simply a trinket from an old woman, given to us in appreciation from when we saved her. I doubt she knew its true power or what it might do when I summoned my father,” Arthur said.

“But I used it to summon you,” Merlin said, 

“No, it’s just an old relic of the magical age. I wouldn’t put my trust in such an object, not after how my father reacted when we summoned him,” Arthur said shaking his head with disdain.

“No?” Merlin asked, worry crossing his mind.

“Don’t be such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking in Merlin’s frown.

Merlin scowled at being called a girl. At least some things never changed. Merlin pushed his hands against Arthur's bare chest in protest.

Arthur seemed to know that he had amused Merlin and he began to pull him in for another embrace. As he did so, he circled his fingers around Merlin's wrist.

Merlin couldn't help but wince.

“You're hurt,” Arthur said, holding Merlin’s wrist up to the moonlight and examining the bruises that marked Merlin's pale skin.

Merlin debated with himself momentarily over whether to tell Arthur how he got the bruises.

“I had a slight problem with Gwen and she had the guards throw me in the dungeon,” Merlin said. “She's a bit angry about my magic,” he added.

“Well, that's to be expected,” Arthur said, gently brushing his thumb over a dark bruise. “Not everyone will be as impressed with it as I was.”

Merlin snorted. “And… she thinks I let you die,” Merlin said, unsure of how many details of Gwen's reign he should share.

Arthur shook his head. “I'm sure she was upset, but I left her in charge. Gaius must have given her my seal. Everything was just as she always wanted, and Leon—”

“Leon released me from the dungeon so I could come to you,” Merlin said with a nod.

“He's a good man,” Arthur said. “He and Gwen... they deserve some happiness together.”

“You knew?” Merlin asked. He couldn’t bear the thought of Arthur being hurt by Gwen’s attraction to Leon. It wouldn’t be the first time Arthur had lost Gwen’s heart to another man. He watched Morforwyn’s slow rise and fall beneath the water, the Sidhe trailing behind him in a slow parade. 

“I was the king, Merlin,” Arthur said, releasing Merlin’s wrist. “There's very little I didn't know.”

“Well, you didn't know about my magic,” Merlin said with a small laugh, but then he grew serious and said, “I'm sorry I kept it a secret for so long. You trusted me and I let you down.”

Arthur let the Horn of Cathbhadh slip from his hand. He cupped Merlin’s chin in his hand and stroked his thumb across Merlin’s cheek in reassurance. “My distrust of the horn doesn’t affect how much I trust you. You came back for me, after all. We just need to figure out a way to make this right.”

Merlin shivered at Arthur's touch. “You're so cold,” he said, touching his fingers to the back of Arthur’s hand. His touch seemed to warm Arthur’s skin. He could sense Arthur’s heart beating in his chest, but when he chanced a glimpse of his body, it was as he feared. He could see straight through what should have been Arthur’s solid form, lean and muscular, strong and fit. Instead, he watched Morforwyn and the lights of the Sidhe as they swam among the waves as if Arthur wasn't there to block his view at all.

Arthur seemed to notice that Merlin was distracted by the Sidhe. “Warm me up,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin back into his embrace, his lips whispering against Merlin's neck. “Lucky I recognized you without that foolish neckerchief.”

Merlin moaned when he felt Arthur's hands move to the small of his back. They seemed to warm even as they came into contact with the thin fabric of his tunic. He managed a small smile, grateful that he could provide Arthur with some warmth from the cold. His hands roamed over Arthur's naked arms, working their heat into his skin.

“I didn’t have time to get properly cleaned up,” Merlin said.

Arthur's fingers stroked Merlin's back, working their way upward until his fingers were tangled in Merlin's hair. A spark of arousal uncurled in Merlin's belly, making him feel warmer still, despite the cold water that lapped at his waist. The knot on his head could be ignored in favour of Arthur’s affectionate touch. Arthur let the fingers of one hand play over Merlin's ear before slipping their way down Merlin's cheek to his chin. When Merlin let his gaze drift from the lake to Arthur's eyes, he saw Arthur watching him with more intensity than Merlin had ever seen him demonstrate before, except perhaps in battle.

“If we escape this mess,” Arthur said, before correcting himself with a tiny shake of his head, _“when_ we escape this, I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

Merlin felt like his heart stopped. Before he could think of something coherent to say, he watched Arthur’s face draw closer until he brushed his lips against Merlin’s.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, drawing back.

But Arthur didn't answer with words. Instead, he pressed forward, stopping Merlin from speaking with a flick of his tongue against Merlin's lips, beckoning for entrance. Merlin happily obliged. He gave his mouth over to Arthur. He could always make the excuse that he was trying to warm Arthur, if Arthur decided later that it was a mistake.

Merlin melted into the kiss, letting his arms float to Arthur’s back, his shoulders, his hair. For so long, he had felt undeserving of Arthur’s love. After all, he had convinced himself that he was responsible for Arthur’s death, yet here he was with Arthur in some state of half-living, half-dead, kissing him in the middle of a lake.

Arthur's lips felt as wonderful as he had always imagined against his. Merlin quietly doubted himself, wondering what he had ever done that was so great that he should have his every unspoken desire fulfilled. He was just a simple farm boy from Ealdor with a big secret. Surely he didn't deserve the love of a king. But the delicious press of Arthur’s cold meeting his warmth proved otherwise. Arthur's mouth on his was enough to make him forget his failures and his misery for a little while. Having the comfort of the calming manatee to guide him made things even easier still.

Ever since he came to Camelot, Merlin’s goal had always been to ensure that Arthur became the great leader he was destined to be—the ruler of Camelot and the king who would unify all of Albion. But Merlin had been so obsessed with saving Arthur from every threat, all the while hiding his magic so he himself wasn't caught and killed, that he barely noticed he had fallen in love. It took the discovery of Kilgharrah's lies for Merlin to put aside his goal of ensuring Arthur became a great king. Just as it took the friendship of a calming manatee to make him believe in himself, to love himself, and to fulfil his own destiny with Arthur, even if it was only to share this one kiss.

If historians looked back at a great kingdom that flourished because Merlin saved Arthur so many times, so be it.

But if there was never a great kingdom to come… if they both lived here at the lake, Arthur in the water that somehow seemed to keep him nearly alive and Merlin on the nearby land, it would be better than for Merlin never to have kissed Arthur at all.

If there was any doubt whether Arthur felt the same way, Merlin had his answer when he tilted his head back and saw the love in Arthur's eyes. There was no need for rationalizations or excuses. Arthur had intended to kiss him and he was happy to kiss him again.

Merlin wove his fingers through Arthur’s wet hair and pulled him in for another kiss. Arthur wore a half-smile and eagerly went along, following Merlin’s lips with his eyes before Merlin swept his lips over Arthur’s mouth again. Merlin’s eyes drifted shut as he urged himself to avoid questioning why they had never done this before. They were kissing now, and that was the only thing that mattered.

The silence was broken by the sound of a manatee clearing his throat.

“Hey, you two,” Morforwyn called as he swam alongside Arthur. “I just know that you are going to do incredible things together, but have you forgotten that you have some unfinished business here?”

Arthur sucked gently on Merlin's lower lip before turning his attention to the manatee. “I haven't forgotten,” he said, brushing Merlin's nose with his own.

“It's been a lot of fun distracting the Sidhe so you could hug and kiss,” Morforwyn said, nudging Arthur with a flipper so he backed away from Merlin. “But have you told Merlin about your plan to get free from here?”

Behind the manatee, an assembly of Sidhe had gathered, their lights illuminating the surface of the lake so that it was nearly as bright as day. Their leader, who Merlin knew as the fearsome Adaneth, floated regally above the lake, an entourage of tiny fairies bowed in mid-air at his feet.

“I haven't had a chance yet,” Arthur said, casting a suspicious glance at Adaneth. He rubbed a hand over Morforwyn's snout as the manatee stretched his head above the water.

“Well, I'll leave that to you. Merlin did a great job today,” Morforwyn said, turning to face Merlin as Arthur continued rub his face. “I am so proud of you.”

“But I haven't done anything. The horn didn't work.” He glanced from where the horn floated uselessly in the water, then back to Arthur for assurance that he had told him the truth about the horn. “Arthur is still dead.”

Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, ignoring the manatee. He laid his hands on Merlin's shoulders and said, “There's something I must ask of you.”

“You may as well tell him,” Adaneth interrupted, his teeth glowing with a greenish hue. “The reason why Arthur couldn’t be revived by the Horn of Cathbhadh should be obvious—he was never dead.”

Merlin was confused. He backed away from Arthur, fearing what he had become. “But he was dead when I set him adrift in the wooden boat,” Merlin said to Adaneth. “I'm quite sure of it. I was looking to you for help in healing him when he died.”

“I'm sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said, lowering his hands to the water. “You were so strong throughout the ordeal. We almost made it to the lake in time.”

Merlin felt as though his heart would break if he were to discover that Arthur's appearance had simply been an illusion, a trick played on him by the angry Sidhe. “Is there no chance of bringing you back then? What are you?” Merlin asked, devastated.

“Calm yourself, Merlin,” Morforwyn said, swimming behind Merlin so he couldn’t back further away from Arthur. “The Sidhe are almost finished healing Arthur, but they need your help.”

“And why should I help them?” Merlin asked. “They only want to ruin things and they've wanted to command Arthur and guide his decisions for years now. We’ve always been able to hold them off.”

Adaneth looked smug as he watched Merlin in distress. One more sneer and Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to unleash the fury of his magic against him. Fortunately Arthur’s confident voice brought his spirit back to calmness.

“As I _died_ , you begged me to stay with you,” Arthur said gently. “You remember? It was enough... the thought of leaving you was enough to keep me from dying completely, despite my mortal injury. The Sidhe saw an opportunity and they began to heal me, but they want something in return before they finish the job.”

Merlin examined the wound left by the sword in Arthur’s side. The flesh was stained with shades of purple bruising and an angry red seam from where Mordred's sword had plunged home. Merlin let his fingers trace over the wound, gauging whether he dared to try healing Arthur with his magic. His eyes flashed gold as he assessed the damage, but it wasn't clear to him whether his magic would be enough to reverse the injury caused by the magical blade. He supposed he'd have to trust Gaius's word that only the Sidhe could heal Arthur. As much as he wanted Arthur to be healed, he'd only try to use his magic if there were no other choice.

If the Sidhe could heal Arthur, he could return to Camelot with Merlin. If the Sidhe's powers worked in Arthur's favour, there needn't be only one kiss shared between Merlin and his king. The love he had for Arthur overwhelmed him and made his decision a simple one. Merlin's fingers drifted from Arthur's ribs to his chest, to his neck.

He slid his thumb over Arthur's lips.

“If they can restore you to life, there's nothing I won't do,” Merlin said.

Arthur grasped Merlin's hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “There's a way that they’ll agree to do it,” he said. “But only if you're sure.”

“It's not my decision alone,” Merlin said. “You need to want this too.”

“I wanted to be certain of your feelings before I agreed to the Sidhe's request. If they are to heal me, there can be no room for doubt. I don't want to return to a world where you….” Arthur seemed to struggle to find the words.

It pained Merlin to see Arthur with a furrowed brow and his fingers gripping Merlin’s hand for dear life.

“I don’t want to return to a world where you didn't love me,” Arthur finally managed.

Merlin turned his palm so that both he and Arthur’s fingers wove together. There was no doubt that this was what Merlin desired above anything he had ever wished for in his life. “I'll do it. I'll do whatever they want,” he said.

“The Sidhe want a place at the Round Table,” Arthur said.

Merlin cringed, but caught himself before he could spout off about how improper their request was—they were Sidhe, for gods' sakes. They didn’t deserve a place in Arthur’s court. The feel of Morforwyn’s weight against the back of his knees grounded him. He was sorry for the loss when the manatee swam toward Adaneth and his fairy companions.

“If they heal me,” Arthur said, “they want an equal voice with the other kingdoms of the realm with whom we have worked to build alliances. I promised them a place at the Round Table in Camelot and they agreed, under one further condition.”

Merlin couldn’t imagine what more the Sidhe could want. “If you think it is the right thing to do, I’ll go along with you,” Merlin said, silently hoping that the Sidhe’s conditions wouldn’t be too difficult to fulfil.

“They want the crown of Cerdic, the Saxon king,” Arthur said, his fingers tightening against Merlin’s. “When they have it, they will have an equal voice among the leaders of the other kingdoms with whom we share alliances.”

Merlin listened and nodded. He tried to imagine the best case scenario. Perhaps he could locate the Saxon camp and snatch the crown from Cerdic’s head while he slept. That would work, but only if Cerdic’s new allies didn’t catch him and disembowel him first.

“We’ve been decimated by the Saxons in years past,” Adaneth said. “They’ve stolen many riches from us, including the crown that they use to adorn their leader. If you restore the crown to its rightful Sidhe owners, we will repay you by healing your king. We look forward to joining him n Camelot as he unites the kingdoms of the realm to work toward common goals.”

Merlin shuddered to think of the Sidhe working in unison with Arthur’s court. They always seemed to have their hand in hand in mischief. Would Arthur be able to guide their decisions? What if they refused to cooperate for the good of all?

“The decision is yours,” Arthur said. “If you feel you can't do it, I’ll understand. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I can’t do it myself. I’m trapped here.”

“You should choose the option that makes you happiest,” Morforwyn said, basking with his belly to the sky.

Merlin thought hard. He was fairly certain that Arthur could contain the Sidhe’s ways with his strong leadership. Failing that, Merlin recalled that he had dispatched several of the Sidhe when he had the altercation with them years ago over Aulfric and Sophia. And he barely used a touch of magic when he sent a Sidhe fairy sprawling for annoyingly flitting around his head when Arthur emerged from the lake. He didn’t trust the Sidhe, but perhaps they weren’t entirely evil, but simply acting out. 

As ancient magical beings, the Sidhe had their own peculiar interests and an existence that was very different from the humans they encountered. Merlin supposed that was why they frequently came across as incomprehensible, uncaring, or cruel. They knew nothing of compassion. Perhaps it would eventually benefit everyone in Camelot if they were allowed a place at the Round Table. If they had to negotiate with humans and listen to human opinions and concerns, their ancient magic and the ways of modern men could be brought into closer alignment under Arthur's rule.

In any case, the Sidhe wouldn’t present nearly as big of a problem as the Saxons would.

Surely the Saxons were preparing to strike Camelot any day now with the help of their new allies. Merlin worried about the rulers who Arthur had forged partnerships with over the years. Would they defend the Saxons and lay Camelot to waste, dividing her riches among them? Would they destroy Merlin at first sight, knowing how committed he was to Arthur and how he would stop at nothing to prevent them from claiming Camelot’s spoils. If only there was a way of proving to them that Arthur was still alive, even if it wasn’t entirely true. If they anticipated Arthur’s return, they’d side with Merlin wouldn’t they?

Morforwyn slowly rolled over so he swam right-side up again. He nudged Merlin’s hand, urging him to pet his head.

“You deserve to be with someone who recognizes how amazing you are,” Morforwyn said quietly. “I know this is a hard decision, but I believe in you. I know you can do this—I’m so proud of you.

“Anything,” Merlin said to Adaneth, while petting Morforwyn. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Come now,” Adaneth said, gesturing to his fairies. “He has made his decision. It is time for Arthur to return to the lake with us. We’re nearly done with his healing.”

The Sidhe fairies flitted about the lake, swarming toward Arthur and casting him in a brilliant blue light.

“We’ll finish with your king and meet you back here at the same time tomorrow,” Adaneth said, and then he added, “Bring the crown.”

Merlin’s mouth hung open. Surely they didn’t expect him to win over Arthur’s former allies and obtain the crown of the Saxon king in a single day?

“Your allies, Arthur,” Merlin said, taking Arthur’s other cold hand in his and placing Arthur’s arms around his waist. “They think you're dead and they are siding with the Saxons to claim Camelot for their own. How will I stop them?”

“You need to tell them that I’ll return. From what you’ve said, I have no doubt that the Saxon’s attack will be coming soon,” Arthur said, holding Merlin close. “For the love of Camelot, you need to hurry.”

“They’ll never believe me,” Merlin said, his lips whispering against Arthur’s neck. “Not when they can’t see you like I can.”

The assembly of fairies tugged at Arthur, threatening to tear him from Merlin’s arms.

“Then you must convince them,” Arthur said.

“But how will I convince them? They’ll try to kill me as soon as I attempt to steal the Saxon king’s crown,” Merlin said.

Merlin made a mental list of allies that he feared would turn against Arthur’s memory and destroy his legacy. Maybe Annis and Rodor would stay true to Arthur, but Merlin couldn’t bear to think that they might not. Annis only knew Merlin as Arthur’s fool—an entertainer who could amuse his guests in Camelot. She knew nothing of Merlin’s willing devotion to the king. And what of Elena’s father, Godwyn, and Vivian’s father, Olaf? They had nothing to lose by attacking Merlin if he transgressed against the Saxons. And Odin and the Sarrum of Amata… dealings with them were sketchy even when they met directly with Arthur.

“You’ll find a way, Merlin,” Arthur said as the fairies dragged him down.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered sadly.

“I’ll be waiting here for you,” Arthur said as he strained against the Sidhe’s grip to leave one more kiss on Merlin’s lips.

Merlin held onto Arthur as long as he could until the Sidhe finally won out and dragged him beneath the surface of the water. Beneath the lake, a swirl of blue light followed Arthur deeper and deeper, until he and the Sidhe disappeared in a flicker of light.

After a moment, the lake water calmed again. The water’s glassy surface, quiet and still, only reflected the brightening moon.

“Morforwyn!” Merlin called. He hadn’t seen the manatee since he had agreed with Adaneth’s requests.

There was no answer.

“Morforwyn! Where are you?” Merlin called.

The water remained still in the glimmering moonlight. There was no sign of the manatee anywhere.

Merlin splashed the water with his palms, trying to summon his attention, anything that would make the manatee return. He needed Morforwyn’s encouragement now, more than ever. 

Merlin stared into the water where he had last seen Arthur sink into the depths.

There was nothing but blackness now.

Merlin turned toward the shore, but as he did, he caught a glimpse of a tiny glimmer of light deep within the bottomless lake. Perhaps it was the flicker from some Sidhe settlement that lay far beneath the water’s surface. But no, as Merlin watched, although he couldn’t see well through the dark water, the light grew closer. As it swiftly drew near, he realized it was Morforwyn, swimming up to the surface from the bottom of the lake at full speed.

Merlin had to step back to avoid a collision with Morforwyn as the manatee broke the surface of the water. He watched as his entire body breeched high into the air above the lake. Merlin closed his eyes just before he heard the great splash as Morforwyn landed, displacing the water of the lake with waves that crashed against the shore.

“Where have you been?” Merlin asked the manatee, wiping the water from his eyes.

As Morforwyn slowly swam toward him, Merlin noticed the creature had something bright wedged in his mouth.

“What is it?” Merlin asked. He moved closer through the chilly water. Morforwyn carefully carried a tiny glass vial that shone in the dark. Merlin reached for it, took it from Morforwyn, and held it up to the moonlight.

“The amazing thing about the water,” Morforwyn said, “is that you always get what you need.”

Inside the vial, Merlin could see a tiny shard of silver-coloured metal.

“I got it from the Sidhe,” Morforwyn said. “It’s the piece of steel from Mordred’s sword.

“Morforwyn,” Merlin said. “You’re absolutely brilliant.” He sloshed through the water to kiss the manatee on the head.

“It was buried in Arthur’s heart. The Sidhe had removed it from Arthur’s wound a few days ago in hopes that you would help them. I figure you could use it more than they can now,” Morforwyn said.

Merlin looked at the tiny sliver of steel. He wondered how something so small and seemingly insignificant could bring down the whole kingdom that Arthur had built. As damaging as the shard had been to Arthur, Merlin now saw that the shard could help him to fulfil his pledge to the Sidhe.

“I can use this to convince Annis and Rodor that Arthur is still alive,” Merlin said. “And if I can do that, Godwyn and Olaf will believe me. Maybe even the Sarrum of Amata wouldn’t dare cross Camelot’s threshold if he knew that Arthur might very well be returning.”

“You know what you need to do next,” Morforwyn said. “And don’t try telling me that you’re not pretty enough, strong enough, tough enough, smart enough, good enough, or whatever else. You are a great person. You deserve to have everything you want. Now you just need to worry about getting to the Saxons in time.”

“There’s no time to waste,” Merlin said, patting the manatee reassuringly. He next threw his head back and called, “Oh dracan brynewielm me clipunge! Ic nu agnunge hwæt sy rihtgife gyldenwecga æt abeodan!”

Together, Merlin and Morforwyn watched as Aithusa circled through the air and descended to the lake.

~ ~ ~ 


	5. Chapter 5

Riding on Aithusa’s back was a lot different than riding Kilgharrah. The ancient dragon had flown with a subtle grace, never banking harder than necessary, never flapping his wings like a hummingbird to gain enough speed to prevent a crash landing. Merlin had all he could do to hold firmly onto Aithusa’s pale neck scales as he floated and dipped clumsily over the countryside. It made his head ache.

Without Morgana to care for Aithusa, Merlin worried that the dragon might slip into the wrong hands yet again. He had already been traumatized to the degree that he lost his ability to speak when he was imprisoned by the Sarrum of Amata. Who knew what other behaviours would manifest themselves because of his years in captivity? Merlin worried that the dragon may never be able to trust him, and that he might never be able to trust Aithusa. 

The dragon's inability to speak was bad enough, but Merlin wasn’t even sure if Aithusa understood what Merlin commanded him to do. The dragon seemed to respond best to Merlin's body language, instead of his words. Despite the difficulties in communication, it was time that Merlin claimed what was rightfully his—control of the young tortured beast that he had watched hatch from an egg. With proper training, perhaps Merlin could get Aithusa to fly with the same smooth graceful arcs as Kilgharrah always did.

Their first stop was atop the ramparts of Camelot. Merlin wanted to make sure the Saxons hadn't yet mounted their attack. He wordlessly shielded his approach with an invisibility spell—the same spell he had used to hide Leon and his horse from the Saxons. Merlin marvelled at how strong his magic had become. He first noticed the change in its feel as it vibrated through him after he met with his father in the cave where Morgana had trapped him after using the Gean Canach to render him powerless. Since his magic’s return, something had changed within him. Perhaps Balinor’s affirmation that Merlin was _magic itself_ unleashed the latent power that coursed through Merlin’s veins so he could reach his fullest potential. He had been in such despair over Arthur’s death that he hadn’t thought to question it but he hoped that he could use its strength to help bring Arthur back to life. 

All was quiet when Aithusa touched down, unseen by Camelot's guards on duty in the early morning. Merlin was relieved that the siege hadn't yet begun. One more swoop over the enemy's camp would tell him how much progress had been made during the night Merlin spent at the lakeside.

Merlin looked wistfully over the courtyard and the towers of the castle that he called home. “I’ll return your king to you soon,” he whispered into the chilly morning air. “I promise.”

But there was no time to spend perched on the ramparts reflecting about Camelot’s future or the comfort of Arthur’s embrace. With a nudge of his heels, Merlin urged Aithusa into the sky again.

High above the realm, Merlin scanned the landscape for the Saxons’ camp. It took all his strength to hold Aithusa steady while his eyes blazed with gold as he tracked the enemy. Just outside of Camelot, he found where the Saxons had amassed their army. Merlin didn’t dare try to land near the army under the power of Aithusa’s unsteady wings. He’d be too distracted by concern for Aithusa to concentrate on disarming the Saxons in time to get to their king and his crown. Satisfied that the Saxon’s allies had not yet joined them, Merlin set off to find allies of his own.

They first flew to Caerleon. Merlin believed he could count on Queen Annis’s support, despite their shaky beginning. A woman of Annis’s age didn’t get the rule a kingdom without intelligence and wisdom. Merlin hoped that she would use her wisdom to understand that it would behove her to remain allied with Arthur. Merlin guided Aithusa to an open orchard and left the dragon there to forage for his breakfast.

At the entrance to the castle, Annis’s men quickly notified their queen of Merlin’s arrival. 

“Merlin, I’ve heard the news,” Annis said when Merlin was led to her sitting room. She disregarded formality and instead took Merlin into her arms and embraced him.

Merlin couldn’t contain his trepidation about his task that lay ahead, but he appreciated that Annis had regarded him so warmly.

“You know about Arthur,” Merlin said. He wondered where to begin.

“Word of a ruler's death travels fast throughout the realm,” Annis said, finally releasing him. “I'm so sorry. I know how much Arthur Pendragon meant to you.”

“I have a lot to tell you about Arthur,” Merlin said. “It's not as simple as it seems.”

“Look at you… you look like you haven’t slept in a week. Please sit and stay a while,” Annis said, leading him to a table and chairs where refreshments had been set out for them.

“I can't stay long,” Merlin said. “I just want to assure you that I have a plan to put into motion that might bring Arthur back, but I'll need your help.”

Annis clutched a hand to her throat. “Merlin, I know how upset you must be because of Arthur's death. Anyone could have seen that you were more than just his fool. I've heard about your magic, but not even the most powerful of sorcerers can bring a dead man back to life.”

“I think I can,” Merlin said, pulling Annis's chair out so she could sit. “Let me explain.”

Annis hadn’t been approached by the Saxons, but just as Merlin anticipated, she would have refused to comply with their plan to attack Camelot anyway. She had her army watching them and observing their whereabouts after word came of Arthur's death. One could never be too careful when warring bands of men roamed the countryside.

The pitcher of water Annis poured from reminded Merlin to tell her about the manatee and the Sidhe's promise to heal Arthur. From his satchel, Merlin took the vial containing the shard of steel that had been removed from Arthur's heart and showed it to Annis. She held the vial up to the sunlight that streamed through an open window, and examined the tiny shard. Merlin sensed her sorrow that her own husband had died when Arthur plunged a dagger into his heart.

“To think that such a _tiny_ thing could do so much harm,” Annis said with curiosity.

Merlin's heart clenched. For the first time, he was able to put himself in Annis's position. The loss of her husband was still fresh in her mind, even after all these years had passed. Of course, Merlin still believed that it had been Caerleon's own fault that he had been killed. His numerous transgressions against Camelot were committed without remorse and Arthur gave him every chance he could to repent. Still Merlin felt how painful it must have been for Annis to lose the man she shared her life with. He wasn't sure that he could ever forgive Mordred for killing Arthur, even if he were given the opportunity. He'd never thought twice about killing Morgana as Arthur lay dying. He had no regret for ending her life, despite their previous friendship and bond of magic. Annis was a wiser and more forgiving person than Merlin, and he was grateful for her alliance to Arthur and for her behaviour that he could use to guide his own.

Annis's voice stirred him from his thoughts.

“Your magic is a gift, Merlin. Use it wisely and we all will prosper,” Annis said. “Arthur deserves nothing less.”

She tucked the vial containing the shard into Merlin’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Merlin thanked her for her steadfast support. She promised to have an army of archers watch for Merlin at the crossroads where the road to Ealdor left from the road to Camelot. Caerleon’s men would defend Merlin if it was deemed necessary as he made his bid for the crown of the Saxon king.

Next, Merlin climbed onto Aithusa's back and flew to Nemeth to see if he could be guaranteed help from Rodor. Aithusa touched down in their empty courtyard and Merlin was quickly seized by the guards that Rodor had left in place to watch over Mithian.

“It's not like I'm a child,” Mithian said, waving the guards off.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders back into his jacket when he was freed. “I've come to bring you news of Arthur,” Merlin said.

“Oh, Merlin, I already know. You must be devastated,” Mithian said, straightening Merlin’s collar and kissing his cheek. “Father just rode to Camelot this morning to see if he could offer Guinevere assistance. It's a terrible thing.”

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “That's great news, really,” he said. “I'm glad Rodor wants to help.”

Mithian looked confused until Merlin explained about the Sidhe and their promise and how he needed to return the Saxon's crown to its rightful owner. She laughed about the manatee and about how brave Merlin was to have finally revealed his magic. Although his clothing was dishevelled and his face was smudged with grime, they joy on Merlin’s face told Mithian that he wasn’t in mourning. Merlin showed Mithian the shard of steel from Mordred's blade, although it was entirely unnecessary. She would have believed his story because of his sincerity alone.

“I can send a messenger to my father so he knows of your plan,” Mithian said, taking his hand as they walked to the field behind the stables where Aithusa waited. “Perhaps you’ll need his help when you approach the Saxon’s camp. It can’t be an easy matter to get a crown from a king.”

“I'll do my best,” Merlin said, “and I have every reason to think I'll succeed.”

Merlin whistled for Aithusa and, after a few false starts, the dragon followed Merlin and Mithian as they walked alongside the brook that flowed into the moat of Rodor’s castle.

The day had turned warm and Merlin squatted to dip his dirty hands into the water while Mithian sat on the sandy bank.

“It was you he loved all along,” Mithian said as Merlin dried his hands on his breeches.

Merlin searched for a flat stone and cast it into the water. “I was jealous of you when you first came to Camelot,” he said after a while. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping it might keep him from blushing like a girl.

“My father was shocked by Arthur’s death,” Mithian said, leaning back so the sun warmed her face. “But he never asked if I was going to be able to cope with my sadness over him, nor if his wife would be overcome with grief.”

The surface of the water rippled as it had done when Morforwyn appeared to Merlin, but the manatee was nowhere in sight.

“No?” Merlin asked.

“No,” Mithian said, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Even he knew Arthur's heart belonged to another.”

Merlin cast another stone, trying to make it skip across the water.

“It’s been you all along, hasn’t it been, Merlin? That’s why you’re so willing to save him every time he gets into trouble,” Mithian said.

“I never really knew, until it was too late,” Merlin confessed.

“It’s so obvious,” Mithian laughed.

Merlin held back a grin with all his might. It felt good to share this conversation with a friend like Mithian.

“Arthur never got on with anyone as well as he did with you, did he?” Mithian asked.

Merlin remained silent, trying to stave off the pain he imagined he’d feel if he failed the Sidhe.

“I can see that you are totally in love,” Mithian said, punching Merlin in the arm.

Merlin finally let his face break into a smile.

“Well, let’s get a move on,” Mithian said, standing and tugging Merlin to his feet. “I’ve got to get a message to my father and you have more stops to make before you snatch the crown off Cerdic’s head.”

Merlin felt lighter after his conversation with Mithian. A new confidence filled him. He had the feeling that his plan just might work.

With his known allies in place and their promises made, Merlin mounted Aithusa and flew to find Godwyn. It came as no surprise when he was exactly where Merlin suspected he would be—marching an army of one hundred men from Gawant to the Saxon's camp.

“It will be easier if I can get him alone,” Merlin said as he rode on Aithusa's back, high above the patrol.

He didn't know why he bothered to tell the dragon his plans. Aithusa had little reaction to anything Merlin said. But in the absence of the manatee, it comforted Merlin to be able to share his thoughts aloud.

Aithusa touched down on a grassy plain just as the Gawant army crested the hill. With a flare of gold in his eyes, Merlin magicked the army, freezing them in mid-step. After protecting Aithusa with a shielding charm, Merlin allowed only Godwyn himself to move freely. Merlin was amazed at the ease with which he could control his power. Godwyn gaped at his men, rendered motionless by the newly unmasked sorcerer Godwyn knew only as King Arthur's gangly serving boy.

“I have nothing to lose by helping the Saxons,” Godwyn argued after Merlin made his accusation that Godwyn sought to side with the Saxons and divide the spoils.

“But you have everything to gain by remaining allied with Camelot,” Merlin said.

“Like what?” Godwyn spat out. “I have no obligation to Camelot. Elena and Arthur never wanted to make a marriage that would have secured the future cooperation of both our kingdoms, lest you forget.”

“Arthur was a loyal ally to your kingdom,” Merlin said, stepping forward. “He'll be terribly disappointed in you when he returns.”

“Stop speaking nonsense,” Godwyn said. His eyes roved over the field where Aithusa grazed. “Arthur is dead. It doesn't matter if he has a sorcerer and a dragon to fight his battles. His battle is lost.”

Merlin took the vial with the shard of steel from his satchel and held it in front of Godwyn's eyes.

“What's this?” Godwyn asked, growing nervous.

“It's the shard that the Sidhe removed from Arthur's heart,” Merlin said. “If you don't believe me, you can face Arthur’s wrath tomorrow when he discovers you have broken your treaty. He won't be pleased with your plan to share the spoils of Camelot with the Saxons, I can tell you that much.”

Merlin watched as Godwyn grew more nervous. It was as if the shard possessed some magical power of its own. Perhaps the Sidhe had charmed it to be ensured of Merlin's conflicts going in their favour. In any case, Godwyn seemed to relent. He held his hands up in surrender. 

Within moments, Merlin stood by Aithusa's side as Godwyn led his men back along the road to Gawant.

Merlin’s journey to King Olaf’s camp yielded similar results. Olaf’s men were finishing their mid-day meal only a mile away from the Saxon’s outpost when Aithusa swooped in with Merlin on his back. 

“I never wanted my Vivian to marry Arthur in the first place,” Olaf said. “Best that he's dead so I don’t have to hear her nattering on about him, except she’s been in tears for a week now.”

Merlin cringed at the callousness of Olaf’s words. “He’ll return soon enough,” Merlin said. “Maybe your daughter will rejoice that he’s alive again.”

By the time Merlin tucked the vial containing the shard of steel back into his satchel, he had won Olaf's support. 

“Arthur had better hurry if he wants to reclaim his throne,” Olaf said with concern. He turned and watched his men repacking their saddlebags with food and drink before they made their trip back home.

Merlin suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “Why?” he asked. “When do the Saxons plan to attack?” Until now, Merlin’s plan had been going smoothly. So far, his allies were secured. His enemies had been identified and convinced that Arthur would return, but he still had more to do, more kingdoms to visit, more people to meet. 

“The Saxons lost many men in the battle at Camlann,” Olaf said. “They hope to reinforce their armies with those who want a part of the spoils from Camelot. I'm sure you know that already, but I had no quarrel with Arthur. It won’t be so easy for you to convince Odin and Lot of Essetir that Arthur is alive. And they probably wouldn’t care one way or another.”

Merlin bit his lip. He was running out of time. Olaf's men were preparing to ride. Merlin looked to the sky where the sun was beginning to fall toward the western horizon. He needed to return to the lake with the crown of the Saxon king, and the day was more than half done.

“Arthur...” Merlin whispered looking back toward Avalon. It seemed so far away. He hoped that Morforwyn would carefully watch over Arthur as the Sidhe treated his injury. Merlin’s heart ached when he contemplated the future if he failed in this task. He yearned to hold Arthur in his arms again, to kiss him, but for Arthur to be whole and fully alive, ready to defend Camelot with Merlin at his side. Merlin still needed the crown if he was going to have any hope of seeing Arthur alive again, no matter what allies he had in place.

Merlin had to think fast, but his mind raced with worry over lost opportunities. There would be no time to win Odin and Lot over. Odin might never be convinced of Arthur’s return, so finding him might be a waste of Merlin’s precious time.

And he wanted to visit Lot of Essetir—the kingdom where Merlin’s tiny home village of Ealdor lay. When he set off from the lake in the morning, Merlin had foolishly thought he would be able to take an hour to visit his mother to assure her that he was well and to inform her about the new life he had hoped to make with Arthur. But no, the morning had quickly turned into afternoon and he still hadn’t accomplished what he hoped to, what he needed to, in order to ensure Arthur’s life would be restored.

And what about Alined? He had an alliance with Arthur, but he’d never agree to adhere to it if there were more advantages available with the Saxons. Even if Alined saw Arthur with his own two eyes, the warlord's word was only as good as the mood he was in.

And the new Sarrum of Amata… he would be impossible for Merlin to convince to join his side, not when he recognized Aithusa, the dragon the former Sarrum had cast into a pit.

“When do they attack?” Merlin demanded of Olaf.

Olaf was silent. He stared at the ground while his men sombrely ate their fill.

“Answer me!” Merlin said, the heat rising in his voice.

“Tomorrow at dawn,” Olaf said grimly. “Their plan was to meet today and make the final assault on Camelot together tomorrow. We didn’t know about Arth—”

“Aithusa!” Merlin called.

The young dragon landed beside Merlin in a flurry of flapping wings.

“You’d better hope your king returns,” Olaf said. “Or his kingdom will be as divided as it was before Uther won his reign.”

Aithusa lowered his neck to the ground and Merlin climbed onto his back.

“Uther Pendragon didn’t have the most powerful sorcerer alive on his side though, did he?” Merlin asked.

Olaf nodded in agreement. “For your sake, and Arthur’s,” Olaf said, “you’d better be telling the truth.”

Merlin dug in his heels and Aithusa flapped his wings taking them high into the air above Olaf’s army.

“Good work,” Merlin said, stroking Aithusa’s head. He hoped the young dragon would be able to maintain his steady flight path as they approached the Saxon’s camp. Merlin felt bold when he proclaimed the truth about his magic to Olaf. With the ease of his magic flowing at his will, along with the new confidence instilled in him by Morforwyn and with Aithusa’s help, he believed that getting the crown might be easy.

The dragon flew high over the land. In the distance, Merlin could see the towers of Camelot rising into the sky. Beyond that, the sea glimmered in the sun. 

“Water,” Merlin said. “The amazing thing about the water is that you always get what you need.” Merlin stroked Aithusa’s neck. “That’s what the manatee always tells me.”

Merlin hoped the manatee would be right. He silently thanked Morforwyn and remembered how his words comforted him in times of danger and indecision. Beneath him, Aithusa flew smoothly, the trees slipping past beneath his wings as they closed the distance to the Saxon camp.

“It would be best if we circled around,” Merlin said, motioning with a rotation of a finger in front of Aithusa’s eyes as he spoke.

The dragon must have gotten the message, since he glided unsteadily in a wide arc around the encampment.

Merlin spotted Annis’s archers on the eastern hillside. They had moved into position to defend Merlin, as Annis promised they would.

“Steady now,” Merlin spoke gently to Aithusa as he circled past the defenders.

Merlin pressed his right palm forward toward the men, effortlessly whispering the ancient words that would shield them from all but the worst the Saxons had to offer. Satisfied that he had done what he could to repay his debt to Annis, Merlin focused on the road that stretched from Camelot to the Saxon’s outpost. There was no sign of Rodor, but Merlin had every reason to believe that he would be a strong ally to Arthur today, as well as into the future.

On the ground, the Saxons had gathered outside their tents. Some of the men tended to the fires that they used for cooking. Game that they had caught roasted on a spit over the flames. The day had turned bright and warm. It looked like the army was holding their position where they were for the night while they waited for their allies to arrive. Merlin couldn’t discern which man was Cerdic from this high above the camp. He and Aithusa would need to swoop in low to get a better view. 

“Let’s make a smooth dive,” Merlin said. “For Arthur.”

Aithusa let out a tiny squeal and banked toward the Saxon camp. It was then that Merlin saw the object he came for. A trio of Saxons were engaged in conversation at a table that had been set up to plan strategy. Merlin could only assume that the maps laid out in front of them contained the plans for their assault on Camelot. They would need them to show their allies what direction they needed to take and which side of the castle to attack. Atop the maps, weighing the parchment down to keep it from blowing away in the autumn breeze, the pewter crown sat unobtrusively between the men.

“Do you see it, Aithusa?” Merlin asked.

Aithusa paused his flight in mid-air, his thin young wings betraying their strength as they beat slowly. Unseen by the enemy, Aithusa hovered over the encampment. Merlin braced himself securely on the dragon’s back, his boots scrabbling for purchase on the smooth scales. His fingers clung to the hollow where Aithusa’s wings met his body. 

“That’s what we came for,” Merlin said when he steadied himself. He hardly expected the young dragon to understand.

How could Merlin explain what rescue of the once and future king meant to him? It wasn’t something he could explain to the dragon or to an ally or a foe. The feelings that Merlin had for Arthur were something that could only be sensed when a stranger heard Merlin speak of Arthur, the enthusiasm in his voice, the love in his heart. Two sides of the same coin, Kilgharrah had once said. At least it seemed that the old dragon was right about some things. Maybe in time Aithusa would learn about Arthur’s importance to Merlin.

Aithusa responded by diving low, his wings folded flat to his flanks as he soared toward the ground. Merlin held on tight, his hair blown out of his eyes by the sharp wind as the dragon picked up speed.

By the time the Cerdic and his men noticed Merlin’s approach on Aithusa’s back, it was too late. Merlin reached from the dragon’s swooping wing to grasp the crown, the metal nearly slipping out of his fingers as Aithusa ascended at full speed, his tail lashing back and forth as he rose. With Annis’s guards covering Merlin, the Saxons had no chance to attack the dragon and his rider. Aithusa soared high over the camp with Merlin clutching the Saxon’s crown to his chest.

Merlin could hardly breathe he was so excited for what he and Aithusa had accomplished. As they soared over the landscape he gave Aithusa a few hearty thumps of appreciation. The dragon squealed, seemingly in delight. Merlin tucked the crown into his satchel as they flew for Avalon.

Never had the distance between two points seemed longer.

Merlin didn’t notice how many Saxons had fallen to the arrows of Annis’s guards. He only knew that this part of his task had been a success. If fear that the Sidhe wouldn’t hold up their end of the bargain crept into Merlin’s thoughts, he only focused on the weight of the crown that settled across his hip. If Arthur could never be restored to life, he hoped that at least he would know the lengths that Merlin was willing to cover in order to have him back.

Merlin would have to be satisfied with the knowledge that Arthur knew how hard he had tried.

And for once, Merlin believed he, too, could be satisfied with that accomplishment alone.

Aithusa’s wings beat strong and steady as the tower above the lake at Avalon finally came into view. Merlin admired the beautiful hillside, made all the more beautiful by the knowledge that this was where Arthur waited for him. The fog had long since cleared and the sun shone brightly in the fading afternoon. If Merlin squinted, he could make out Morforwyn's bulky shape as the manatee swam beneath the gentle waves, the blue glow of his own manatee magic following behind him wherever he went.

When Aithusa had touched his feet to the ground, Merlin slid down from his back. He appreciated how well the dragon had been flying. It seemed like he benefited from having Merlin's weight on his back. Merlin rubbed the dragon's muzzle cautiously and praised him for his help. After a moment, Aithusa raised a wary eyebrow to him before slinking away to hunt for voles that burrowed in the nearby meadow.

Merlin shook his head. He still couldn't be sure if he had gained the dragon's trust or if Aithusa would roar out a burst of flames from his lungs if Merlin got too close.

Merlin walked to the water’s edge and pulled the pewter crown from his satchel. Scanning the water for some sign of Arthur, Merlin was disappointed that the surface was only disturbed by the gentle path of Morforwyn's wake.

The sun hadn't yet touched the horizon so Merlin supposed there was still plenty of time for the Sidhe to make good on their promise. He held the crown in his hands and waited for Morforwyn to notice that he had returned. He hoped that the Sidhe would keep their word and were busy putting the finishing touches on healing Arthur's wound. Although he didn’t trust the creatures fully, he tried to tell himself that the he would benefit more if he was patient where the Sidhe were concerned. 

It wasn't long before Morforwyn swam toward the shore. Merlin excitedly waved the crown overhead so the manatee could see it in his grasp.

“Merlin!” Morforwyn exclaimed as he propelled himself partway out of the water, a flipper touching the land.

“I got it,” Merlin announced, holding the crown before Morforwyn's eyes.

“I knew you could do it,” Morforwyn said, his whiskered face beaming with pride.

“And not a moment too soon. The Saxons plan to attack Camelot tomorrow. Have you seen Arthur? Do you know if the Sidhe will keep their promise to us?” Merlin asked tentatively, his eyes scanning the quiet water behind the manatee. His voice sounded small, even to his own ears. A part of him feared that Morforwyn could shatter his dreams with news of the Sidhe’s failure to heal the fallen king.

“The last I checked, they were polishing his armour,” Morforwyn said.

Merlin clasped a hand to his mouth and let out an undignified squeal. He could barely convince himself that this was really happening. If Morforwyn was right, Arthur would be returning to him any moment now. He would gladly give Cerdic’s crown to Adaneth if it meant he could feel Arthur’s arms around him again, if he could kiss his lips, and breathe the scent of his skin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath while he imagined their reunion. 

Together, they would defend Camelot from the impending Saxon attack. He hoped Arthur would be well-rested enough, and that he regained his strength. Despite having so many allies in place, Arthur would want to rush to Camelot right away. He’d never let his shaky return from the realm of the mysterious Sidhe and his recently healed wound prevent him from entering into battle. He’d want to set off with Merlin right away, but without horses, Merlin could only think of one sure way that they could make the journey back to Camelot quickly.

Merlin flopped down at the water's edge and petted Morforwyn's head. “Aithusa was a great help,” Merlin said. “I was worried about riding on his back. He doesn’t seem to trust me very much and I was afraid he wouldn’t obey my commands. He scares me sometimes.”

“You have been through so much. So much heartbreak, pain, and trials. You got through it all and you'll get through these new experiences with the dragon too. You are stronger and braver than ever. I am so proud of you,” Morforwyn said, thumping a flipper excitedly.

“I couldn't have done it without your help,” Merlin said.

Morforwyn seemed to like it when Merlin stroked his slippery head. He closed his eyes and panted happily while Merlin rewarded him with a rubdown.

Merlin turned to watch Aithusa graze on the grass that grew in sparse clumps at the lakeside. It was hard to believe that a week had passed since Kilgharrah touched down in the same spot when he helped Merlin bring Arthur's body the rest of the way to the lake. The white dragon, its body wracked by torture, nosed through the vegetation to seek out the freshest shoots. There was little for him to choose from with the autumn grass burned dry.

“What’s bothering you, Merlin?” Morforwyn asked gently.

“Nothing,” Merlin answered quickly, turning his attention from Aithusa to the manatee.

Morforwyn sighed.

There was no point in Merlin hiding his emotions from the manatee. The creature always seemed to know exactly how to respond to Merlin's worries. “How do you know something is bothering me?” Merlin asked, his eyes drifting to the water.

“Well, for one thing, you stopped petting me—and who in their right mind would be able to stop petting a manatee, given the chance?” Morforwyn asked calmly. “You can’t fool me, Merlin. I’m here to listen to you. What’s going on? If you tell me, maybe I can help.”

Merlin watched the water, hoping Arthur's arrival would end the discomfort he felt when he thought about the worries he had about Aithusa.

“It's the young dragon, isn't it?” Morforwyn asked.

Merlin sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He thought hard of how to explain his concerns to the manatee, but what could the oceanic creature know of the plight he faced when dealing with the airborne dragon that he abandoned?

“It's just that Aithusa seemed to follow Morgana's commands so readily,” Merlin said quietly.

Morforwyn tapped Merlin's leg with his flipper. "You looked like you made a safe landing," he said. "Did you think the dragon could have flown more smoothly with you on his back? You didn't seem to have too much trouble getting Cerdic's crown. That's quite an accomplishment."

“I'm worried that his good behaviour won't last. Aithusa followed Morgana's commands… even if it meant attacking me. What's going to happen if he finds out about what I've done?” Merlin asked. He stared at the surface of the lake that remained unchanged.

“What you've done?” Morforwyn asked. The manatee looked over the lake. There was still no sign of Arthur.

“Morgana cared for him,” Merlin said, his voice breaking. “She truly cared for him… and he had no one else to trust. They had a strong bond. How is Aithusa going to feel when he finds out I killed Morgana?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Morforwyn said, dipping his face into the water before emerging again. “You had no choice but to kill Morgana or be killed yourself. Any reasonable creature will understand that—even Aithusa.”

“He'll probably want to hurt me,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “He'll hate me for killing her. I can’t blame him. Besides, it's my fault that he was tortured by the Sarrum in the first place. If I had paid attention to what was going on with Aithusa, instead of trying to make Arthur become a great king, he'd still be _my_ dragon to command.”

“There now, Merlin, come a little closer,” Morforwyn said, patting Merlin's leg with a flipper. “You couldn't have known what would become of Aithusa when you left him in Kilgharrah's care. And you couldn't have stopped the Sarrum from torturing him or Morgana. No one knows why mean people do things like that, but it's not your fault. You need to forgive yourself. There's no sense in being so upset about it—not when you are so close to getting the one thing that will bring you the greatest joy. You and Aithusa will sort out your differences in time.”

Merlin sniffled. He knew Morforwyn was right. “It's like what Leon said about Gwen. How sometimes when you get the one thing that you wanted so badly, you realized that it was much more responsibility than you thought it would be and it’s just too much to have to deal with all the consequences,” Merlin said. “What's going to happen if I have to protect Arthur from Aithusa?”

“Merlin, let it go,” Morforwyn said. “You’ll certainly find a way to protect Arthur without harming Aithusa. What is done is done, and cannot be undone. It can be really hard to let go sometimes. I know you’re sorry for what happened to Aithusa, but you need to remember that you can’t change the past. The person you were yesterday, a week ago, a year ago, is nothing but a story. He is gone. There is only you, now.”

“But I should have checked on him to make sure he was thriving. He was only a baby,” Merlin said softly.

“Oh, Merlin, accept that you made a mistake. We all do! The other day the Sidhe fairies and I tried to make a flock of geese land at the lake. We splashed in the water, trying to entice them, but they just flew away. We were sad to not have the geese to swim with, but there was nothing we could do about it, so we accepted it. And today, when a pair of swans arrived at the lakeside, we stayed quiet and still and the swans swam with us all day. What I’m saying is, do not regret what you cannot change. Accept it, learn from it, and move on. Forgive yourself. Hating yourself for not being able to change the past is like hating yourself for not being able to breathe underwater. It only hurts you. You deserve forgiveness, Merlin. You are a good person. And I forgive you,” Morforwyn said. Just then, Aithusa appeared at Merlin’s side. He lowered his head to the water and took a long drink. “We all do.”

“I can try,” Merlin said reaching out to pet Aithusa’s neck. “It will take a long time for me to win his trust. Maybe if we are able to return to Camelot together, I can spend more time with him, training him, working with him.”

“Sometimes things take a long time, and that usually means they are worth waiting for,” Morforwyn said.

When Aithusa finished drinking, he wandered back to the meadow to forage for more grass. Merlin rested his hand on Morforwyn’s head. “I don’t know… it probably seems silly of me to be so upset about Aithusa, especially when he tried to destroy Arthur’s army and I can’t even explain to him why it was wrong,” Merlin said.

“Please don't feel silly because you're hurting,” Morforwyn said. “It hurts because it is important. It hurts because it matters.”

“You know, for a manatee, you always seem to know what to say to make me feel better about myself,” Merlin said.

Merlin watched the manatee swim from shore. He floated on his side while propelling himself along in the water, making a meandering wide circle around the lake. The sun had sunk lower in the sky and still there was no sign of Arthur or the Sidhe, but Merlin felt confident that they would arrive at dusk as they had the night before. He tapped his fingers on the pewter crown, reassuring himself of his success in taking it from Cerdic.

“What do you suppose you’re going to do when Adaneth and the Sidhe take their place in Camelot? Will you be lonely without them sharing the lake with you?” Merlin asked when Morforwyn swam close again.

“I don’t think so. I’ve never let my loneliness bother me before,” Morforwyn said, his head rising above the water. “There’s nothing I can do about being trapped here, so I’ve always tried to make the best of it.”

Merlin sat up excitedly. “I remember Gaius told me a story about a shift in the earth that happened a long time ago. Is that what trapped you in the lake? It was long ago, when Gaius was a boy.”

“Oh, yes,” said Morforwyn. “It was a very long time ago. I was just a young manatee then. I had been enjoying myself swimming in the rivers of the realm. One day, the earth shook so hard that rocks slid into the river where I swam. They blocked the entrance to this part of the river and turned it into a lake. I was trapped here and so I’ve lived here for all these years.”

“And you’re happy here?” Merlin asked. “You don’t mind being able to swim only in this lake with the Sidhe?”

“I can’t see any other alternative, but to be happy here. It’s not like I can fly away like Aithusa,” Morforwyn said with a giggle.

Merlin smiled. “You sound like me when I was in Arthur’s service in Camelot. I couldn’t imagine anything different,” he said, remembering what it was like when he first came to Camelot and feared he’d be executed because of Uther’s mandates. “I hid my magic and focused on making Arthur into the great king that I knew he was destined to become. I never thought my life could be filled with any purpose other than that. It’s hard to change when you think you’re satisfied with things the way they are, but Arthur’s death made me realize that there could be something more between us than me being his servant and him being the king. You like swimming here now, but someday you might discover that you want something more too.”

“You are so smart, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “And you’ve gotten even smarter since I’ve known you.”

“You’re a good teacher,” Merlin said, looking over the ever-still surface of the water. “Arthur would—”

“What is it?” Morforwyn asked, turning his head to look in the same direction as Merlin.

“They’re here,” Merlin said.

~ ~ ~ 


	6. Chapter 6

The darkness of evening had begun to fall over the lake. In the shadowy water, the glow of Sidhe-light rose to the surface as it had done the night before. The lake’s surface buzzed with life as the tiny ripples of Sidhe activity turned the calm water into a frenzy of concentric circles. Merlin had to look to the sky to prove to himself that it wasn’t raining, but the sky was clear.

Merlin was grateful that the fog of the past days had burned off so he could see all the way to the tower. Clutching the pewter crown in his hands, he toed off his boots and socks, and stepped into the water without bothering to roll up the bottoms of his breeches. He nervously watched the lake, searching for Arthur. But it was Adaneth who emerged from the water that churned and rolled as if it were boiling. The green glow of his skin reminded Merlin that Adaneth was otherworldy in his intentions and his beliefs. He’d do well not to upset the balance that had been struck between the Sidhe and Arthur when he offered them a place in Camelot.

“I’ve brought what you asked for,” Merlin said. He could barely contain his excitement, although he feared what his reaction would be if the Sidhe refused to keep their promise. He kept his most powerful magic ready at his fingertips.

“We were counting on you, Emrys,” Adaneth said with a satisfied smile, his fairy entourage attending him.

“You call me by my Druid name,” Merlin said. He truly could care less what the Sidhe called him, if it meant he would soon see Arthur.

“We will be required to observe your king’s formalities when we collaborate with him at Camelot. There is no reason that we shouldn’t observe the formality of the Druids when we address you,” Adaneth said.

It seemed strange that Adaneth regarded Merlin to be on equal footing with the king of Camelot, but if this was any indication that Arthur would safely be returned to him, he’d accept their praise.

“Very well, then,” Merlin said. “And have you completed your task of healing the king?”

Merlin clenched the crown between his hands, trying to calm the nerves that thrummed through him. His eyes sought out Morforwyn who had pushed off the shore with his large paddle-like tail flipper. The manatee hovered in the water between Adaneth and Merlin.

“First give me the crown and you shall see your king,” Adaneth said.

Merlin didn’t like this one bit. The Saxons would be attacking in the morning. He needed Adaneth’s assurance that Arthur would return now. He was reluctant to trust the Sidhe, although the Sidhe king seemed to be sincere. He floated in mid-air above the lake, his wings vibrating so a soft breeze fluttered on the water. Morforwyn didn’t seem fazed by Adaneth’s demands. If Adaneth meant to do harm, the manatee would have cautioned Merlin about it. Trusting the manatee, his calm nature, and the water… always the water... it would give Merlin what he needed this time as it had in the past week. He stepped forward, his feet sinking deeper into the mud at the lake bottom.

A swirling cloud of shimmering Sidhe fairies encircled him above the water. Their kind demeanour seemed so different that that which Merlin remembered when he killed Sophia and Aulfric. He supposed the crown that they desired was reason enough for their change in attitude. He held the crown in his outstretched hands and watched the fairies drift close enough to take it from him. They lifted it into the air and gently deposited it on Adaneth’s head, the pewter moulding to fit his head perfectly.

There was still no sign of Arthur or movement on the water, other than that from the Sidhe. Merlin gasped at the finality of it all, but he needn’t have worried. Without further delay, Adaneth said, “And now you will meet your king.”

Merlin was about to call out to Morforwyn for reassurance when he saw it in the distance—the small wooden boat in which he had set Arthur adrift. It was barely visible as it rounded the corner of the island on which the tower rose. As the boat moved closer to the shallow water where Merlin stood, Merlin was grateful for what daylight remained as he discovered that the boat carried a single passenger, much like it had when Merlin had sent it on its last voyage. Only this time, the passenger was sitting upright, his cloak of Camelot red draped around him majestically. When it drew nearer still, a smile broke over Merlin’s face. Arthur caught his attention and pointed to the place over his heart where Mordred’s sword had pierced his mail. Now, no breach in the links were visible, no blood, it was almost as if Merlin had just cleaned and polished the armour himself. The joy on Arthur’s face told Merlin that the man inside the armour had been healed, just as the Sidhe had promised. Arthur was as good as new, inside and out.

Merlin waded forward, his breeches getting soaked, but he didn’t care. His chest heaved so heavily with relief that he struggled to take in enough air. He couldn’t take his eyes off Arthur as he imagined the future they were about to begin together.

He wondered if Arthur would kiss him again. He hoped so.

Merlin was vaguely aware of the Sidhe flitting around and in the lake. Morforwyn followed them, diving deep when the Sidhe went under, and basking in the last rays of autumn sun when the Sidhe broke the surface.

Merlin gently laid his hand on the bow of the boat when it reached him. The vessel shuddered in the water when it came to a stop. Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s and Arthur nodded to him. Not only did Arthur look every inch the returning king—in his full battle regalia with Excalibur sheathed at his side, but Merlin thought he had never seen such an expression of utter adoration on Arthur’s face before in his life. It thrilled Merlin to think that it was because of him. Merlin raised his hand to the boat and bespelled it to move again. He waded slowly alongside the boat as it drifted the remaining distance to the shore.

Stepping onto the lakeside, Merlin made sure the boat was grounded. The water from Merlin’s soaked breeches dripped down his legs and into the mud.

“Sire,” Merlin said with reverence, offering Arthur his hand when the boat had come to a rest.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, his clear blue eyes never straying from Merlin’s.

Arthur stood in the boat and graciously accepted Merlin’s hand to steady himself as he stepped ashore. When his feet touched the ground, he fell into Merlin’s embrace without letting go of his hand.

Merlin couldn’t help but grin. Arthur no longer had the transparent appearance that he had in the lake the night before. No, his hand was as strong and solid as it had ever been and Merlin laced their fingers together, his bare ones to Arthur’s gloved ones.

“I’m so glad you’re here. You’re really here,” Merlin said.

“You’ve done it,” Arthur said, his voice fond. He let his free hand slide up Merlin’s arm from his elbow to his shoulder. “I was only slightly worried.”

“Worried? You doubted me?” Merlin asked with surprise. “After all we’ve been through?”

Arthur leaned forward and touched his forehead to Merlin’s. “You do have a reputation for being an extremely incompetent manservant,” Arthur said, his breath fresh on Merlin’s face.

“Some things can’t be kept a secret no matter how hard I might try,” Merlin whispered, a laugh in his voice.

“Lucky for me that you’re much better sorcerer than you ever were a manservant,” Arthur said.

 _“Were?_ You’re sacking me again?” Merlin asked, his eyes mischievous.

“No, I think I’m giving you a promotion,” Arthur said. “How does Camelot’s official Court Sorcerer sound?”

To see Arthur alive again, to feel him, to breathe the scent of his skin with no secrets between them, Merlin couldn’t help himself, he tilted his chin forward and brushed his lips against Arthur’s. Arthur responded with a soft moan as Merlin felt his hand curl behind Merlin’s neck to pull him closer. Arthur’s soft lips parted for Merlin’s tongue that dipped inside, longing to taste, to fill all his senses with the man he had waited so long to discover he loved.

“Awww… you two,” Morforwyn said.

Merlin broke away from Arthur to see the manatee covering his eyes with his flippers. Merlin could have sworn that his mottled grey face had turned a shade of crimson.

“Morforwyn,” Arthur said sternly. “I think this is the part where you give your king some privacy.”

“My king?” Morforwyn asked. “Are you the king of the sea too?”

“Have you forgotten that as long as you’re swimming in the waters of this realm, you are my subject?” Arthur asked.

“You were right, Merlin. He truly is a prat!” Morforwyn said happily. The manatee gleefully splashed at the water with his flipper, sending a shower of droplets over Merlin and Arthur.

“That’s treason, I’ll have you know,” Arthur said with a laugh.

Merlin pulled Arthur closer, sliding his hands up Arthur’s back, his cloak warm and dry beneath his palms. “I don’t suppose he’ll fit in the stocks, will he?” Merlin asked, angling for another kiss.

“I think I can manage to pardon him, seeing what a worthy source of companionship he is to you,” Arthur said, a whisper against Merlin’s lips.

“We leave at first light,” Adaneth’s voice startled Merlin.

Merlin’s hands froze on Arthur’s back. He turned to face the Sidhe king. Merlin knew Adaneth would want to visit Camelot to secure his seat at the Round Table but he knew nothing yet of the planned Saxon attack. In Merlin’s eyes, Adaneth’s willingness to enter into battle at Arthur’s side would prove his allegiance to Camelot and to Arthur. Adaneth’s attendants illuminated the lake in the falling darkness. Would they follow him into battle for Camelot? The carefree fairyglow that emanated from each of their tiny flying bodies kept the lakeside as bright as day. Merlin trusted that Adaneth would lead them.

“The Saxons plan to attack Camelot in the morning,” Merlin said, turning his attention to Arthur again. He noted the look of concern on Arthur’s face. “I’ve secured Camelot’s allies in Caerleon and Nemeth. Godwyn, and both Odin and Olaf believe you will return and they have agreed to help us by not joining forces with the Saxons. I couldn’t get to the Sarrum of Amata or Alined… not that it would have been much use anyway. I would have liked to have gone to Essetir to see Lot, but there was just no more time.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, pressing two gloved fingers beneath Merlin’s chin, raising it so their eyes met. “You’ve done all this in just a day—and got the Saxon crown for Adaneth?”

Merlin blinked. Of course he had travelled all over, risking life and limb for Arthur. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Arthur when there was hope of his return. “I guess I’m not so incompetent, when I don’t want to be,” Merlin said.

“I’ve always known you were more efficient than you let on, but now I’m bloody well amazed,” Arthur said.

Merlin got the feeling that he was going to be kissed again, but there were more urgent matters to attend to first. “You’ll be coming to Camelot with us?” Merlin asked Adaneth.

“It is our duty to defend our allies,” Adaneth said. “But there is much to be done. We need to prepare to leave here for battle. Our weapons need honing, as do our skills if we are to make a worthwhile contribution tomorrow.”

“Leave us then,” Arthur said. “We’ll meet in the morning, when we defend Camelot from its attackers and when I regain my throne.” 

“We will greet you next in the morning,” Adaneth said.

Arthur nodded to him as he led the Sidhe fairies in a circle of light above the surface of the lake. He plunged into the water, the circle tightening into a spiral swirl that followed Adaneth into the depths.

Merlin watched Morforwyn follow behind them, disappearing beneath the water. He scanned the meadow beside the lake. There had been no sign of Aithusa since the Sidhe arrived. Merlin assumed he was busy foraging for a meal among the creatures who ventured out at night. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Merlin and Arthur were alone.

Merlin picked up the satchel from where he had left it on the ground. “You must be starving,” he said, producing hunk of bread, a block of cheese, and some other delicacy that had been wrapped carefully in parchment. “Queen Annis insisted I took these when I visited her this morning. I think she knows they’re your favourite.”

“Pear tarts?” Arthur asked with a grin.

“Her cook’s specialty,” Merlin said, busily unwrapping the pastries. “She must have a lot of confidence in me. I think she would have believed I could bring you back to life even if I hadn’t shown her the shard from Mordred’s blade. I’m just glad she didn’t ask me to juggle—”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, taking the food from him and laying it atop the open satchel. He touched his gloved hand to Merlin’s cheek. “All you’ve done today, for me and for Camelot… a _thank you_ seems hardly sufficient. You’re exhausted, but you haven’t stopped moving for a moment... when… I just want to hold you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, taking Arthur’s hand by the wrist. His gloved hand felt warm on Merlin’s bare one, so unlike the cold skin Merlin had felt when he first encountered the Sidhe at the lake. Merlin shuddered when he remembered his grief when he laid Arthur to rest in the wooden boat, his gloved fingers interlaced in his final peace. He guided Arthur’s hand to his hip and let his head rest on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur’s arms wrapped around Merlin and pulled him into his embrace. If Merlin weren’t so tired, he believed he would break down and cry from relief as he listened to the steady beat of Arthur’s heart beneath his armour.

“We need to get some sleep,” Arthur said, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s hair.

Merlin pulled back and took Arthur by the hand. He stooped to pick up the satchel.

“Let’s sleep over here,” Merlin said. “There’s a flat spot that’s dry.”

They walked the few steps into the forest where the ground was soft with fallen leaves. With a flash of gold in his eyes, Merlin summoned all the stray sticks that could be used for firewood to gather from the surrounding forest. Then, with a gentle wave of his hand, he arranged the wood within a circle of rocks.

“I didn’t want to leave the water in case you returned, so I hadn’t made a fire. I’ve been sleeping in the mud by the lakeside since you were gone,” Merlin said.

“I can tell,” Arthur said, amused. “You’ll need to spend a day in the laundry to get your jacket and your breeches clean again.”

“Me? Laundry?” Merlin asked. “I thought you were giving me a promotion?”

“Complaining already, I see,” Arthur said, unfastening his cloak. “Now help me get this armour off.”

Merlin reached for him and pulled the newly-mended mail over Arthur’s head. He laid it over the stump of a rotting tree and set to work undressing the king.

“I am hungry, come to think of it.” Arthur said, his eyes lazily following the movements of Merlin’s hands. “But it’s not food I crave most of all.”

Merlin fought down a smirk. Ever since he admitted to himself that he loved Arthur, his emotions fell into place. He no longer felt conflicted, as he had when he was hiding his magic from the king. And being this close to Arthur, as he undressed him at the lakeside, sent a cascade of warm sparks down his spine. It was as if he had found a well-loved jacket that had been lost for years. He wrapped himself in its reclaimed warmth, only to discover that it fit him even better than he remembered.

“But it’s food you’ll need, if you are to be successful against the Saxons tomorrow,” Merlin said, stripping the gloves from Arthur’s hands.

Arthur shook his head and grinned. “Still telling me what to do, Merlin?” he whispered.

“Always,” Merlin said, handing Arthur a slice of bread and cheese.

“You know,” Arthur said, sitting atop his cloak in the dry leaves. “I think this arrangement between us and the Sidhe might work out well, considering how well-versed you are in magic.”

“I’ll admit, I am a bit worried about them coming to Camelot, but given the alternative, it seemed like the best thing to do,” Merlin said between mouthfuls of pear tart.

“The alternative?” Arthur asked, kicking off his boots.

Merlin nearly spat out his food. “You. Dead. Floating away, never to be seen again, until the hour of Albion’s greatest need.”

“Hmmm,” Arthur said. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Merlin said, toeing off his boots and joining Arthur atop the cloak. “Do you think the Sidhe are going to adapt well to living on the land?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, taking another bite. “They do have terrific magical power. It seems to be a lot like yours, and _you_ seem to do fine.”

Merlin let his own magic spark, his eyes flashing gold to ignite the campfire. The dark was illuminated in a soft glow that drowned out the twinkling of stars that had just started to make themselves known.

“Impressive,” Arthur said with a grin. “You should have seen what they did with my wound.” Arthur tugged at the hem of his gambeson.

Merlin was anxious to see the results of the Sidhe’s healing abilities, and no doubt Gaius would want to learn more about it when they returned to Camelot. He knelt between Arthur’s spread thighs and helped him to lift his clothing over his head, not knowing what the state of the injury that lay beneath it.

“You may remember Sophia and Aulfric,” Merlin said. “They were banished from their Sidhe community.”

“I remember, the girl tried to lure me into the lake,” Arthur said.

“They had magical powers, but still their ways were very much human. I think the Sidhe enjoy human comforts and can adapt to live on the land or in the water, depending on what pleases them at the moment,” Merlin said.

“Merlin, I am truly astonished by your knowledge of magical people,” Arthur said, shrugging out of his shirt.

“It comes with the territory,” Merlin said. He let his eyes rove across Arthur’s chest, his fingers palpating the taut skin where Mordred’s blade had pierced him. The fabric of Arthur’s skin had knitted together, leaving only the faintest of scars, a thin white line beneath his lowest rib. Even the dark bruising Merlin had witnessed the night before had been soothed into healthy pink flesh.

“I’m relying on you,” Arthur said, his voice serious. “Your wisdom will be indispensable to me when I reinstate the use of magic to the realm.”

Merlin’s fingers stilled on Arthur’s chest. It was nothing he hadn’t done before as a manservant, letting his touch linger where he most desired. Only now, things were different. Merlin finally understood why he could never take his eyes off Arthur, and why those touches ignited a flicker of passion in his belly. Until now, he had tamped those inappropriate feelings down, dismissed them as something unattainable and impossible to explore. But now, he felt his cock begin to grow hard in his breeches.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, magic, you were saying…” Merlin said distractedly, his eyes finding Arthur’s again. “Of course I’ll do whatever is necessary to help you.”

Arthur’s gaze was heated. He knelt and pushed his hands beneath Merlin’s jacket, stripping it from his shoulders. Merlin felt it drop to the ground behind him.

“It’s time we got some sleep,” Arthur whispered, his lips hot in Merlin’s ear.

It seemed to Merlin that Arthur wanted anything but sleep. He felt him suck a soft kiss onto the tender flesh of his neck before licking a path to his ear with tiny flicks of his tongue. Sparks flew down Merlin’s spine when Arthur tugged at the lobe with gentle teeth.

Merlin let his hands roam from Arthur’s chest to his back, before finding Arthur’s mouth with his own. Their mouths joined in a hot slide of lips and tongue. In Arthur’s embrace, Merlin could feel Arthur’s cock pressing hard against him. By the firelight, Arthur pulled Merlin down to lay upon the cloak with him, a tangle of soothing hands and rutting hips. 

Merlin never imagined a day would come when he felt so desired – especially by Arthur, the prat king of Camelot. The thrill of it was dizzying, but there was one concern he tried to keep at bay. He leaned back, breaking the contact of his hardened cock against Arthur’s.

Arthur must have sensed Merlin’s discomfort because his eyes narrowed and he asked gently, “It’s Gwen, isn’t it?”

Merlin rolled onto his back, his tunic askew, his cock straining hard against the seams of his breeches.

“I need to set things right with Gwen as soon as we ensure the future of Camelot,” Arthur said, propping himself up on one elbow.

“If I thought Gwen hated me before, she’ll hate me ten times more when we return to Camelot,” Merlin said biting his lip.

“I’ll need to tell her, of course, but I know she’ll understand,” Arthur said, resting his hand on Merlin’s chest. “Let me worry about Gwen.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard someone say that in recent days, but it’s not about Gwen—it’s about me,” Merlin said. “I never intended to make so many enemies when I came to Camelot.”

“Listen to you whine,” Arthur said, brushing the hair from Merlin’s eyes. “You brought me back from death and you’re going to help me regain my kingdom… there’s no one in Camelot who would treat you as an enemy. I wouldn’t allow it.”

“But what about Gwen?” Merlin asked. “She’s still your wife. And she was my friend once. She might be again.”

Arthur let out a long sigh. “There are things you don’t know about Gwen and me. I’m not sure if you can understand them, but maybe it’s for the best if you did.” Arthur swallowed hard but his next words were unnecessary as the realization of it all dawned over Merlin.

“She’s been your wife in name only,” Merlin said, more of a statement than a question.

“That’s a good way of looking at it. She’s been my queen, but not my _wife,”_ Arthur said.

“Arthur! You mean for all the love that you and she exhibited toward each other in public, you weren’t even… _together_?” Merlin asked. It was suddenly painfully apparent why Gwen had been barren for all the years of their marriage.

Arthur seemed to consider his next words carefully. “At first, after we were married, we thought we were in love. Everything seemed so simple,” Arthur said, fidgeting with the laces of Merlin’s tunic. “Don’t misunderstand me—Gwen is a good person and a wise counsellor, but trust me when I say it doesn’t go over well with her when I’m always with you, and when I wake in the night with your name on my lips.”

 _“My_ name?” Merlin asked, suddenly understanding what he had been too blind to see before. Arthur must have been denying his own feelings for Merlin, much as Merlin had done himself, all along. Merlin felt himself go weak for an instant, unsure of what would happen next and whether he had any part at all in deciding his own fate. He closed the distance to Arthur and brushed his lips across his cheek, still as finely scruffed as it had been on the day Merlin gave him over to the Sidhe.

Arthur lowered himself to Merlin and whispered, “Don’t you know by now that I could stare at you all day and night, without ever tiring of the sight of you?”

Merlin reached up to cradle Arthur’s head in his hands, dragging Arthur down so he could kiss him again. Arthur’s revelation felt like a gift Merlin hadn’t expected and didn’t deserve, something to cherish forever just because of the surprise it was to his soul.

“When I was _dead_ , I hadn’t forgotten how gorgeous you are. How I wanted you every day, without ever being able to see how it could be possible,” Arthur said when he broke the kiss. He brushed his knuckles across Merlin’s cheek, sending a river of warmth through Merlin’s veins. “I had duty. I had Gwen, my kingdom. The future was laid out before me as it had been from the day I was born. Then, while I lay there nearly dead, the Sidhe came to heal me and I began to think of how much time we had wasted, how many opportunities I let pass by. You’re everything to me, Merlin. How could I have not understood that before?”

Merlin was taken aback. How could he not have seen? All these years he had been protecting Arthur, shoving his own feelings aside to fulfil his one all-encompassing task to keep the king safe so he could fulfil his destiny, when instead, he yearned deep inside to have the one thing he was certain he’d never have. Arthur’s love. His appreciation. His devotion. But now it seemed like he had been given all that he could ever have desired and more.

“Arthur,” Merlin said. “I never realized.”

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. He stopped short of kissing Merlin’s mouth again. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t intend to debauch you on the evening of Camelot’s greatest battle.”

Merlin sunk back to the cloak. “If not then, when?” Merlin asked with a laugh.

“I like that you’re eager,” Arthur said, nipping at Merlin’s lips. “After tomorrow, when we settle this business of defeating the Saxons and reclaiming my throne.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Merlin said, leaning up to press a long and lingering kiss to Arthur’s lips, although he believed he’d die if he had to wait another day.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur agreed, slumping down to lie beside Merlin again.

And Merlin had every reason to believe in his promise.

Merlin bunched his jacket into a pillow for the both of them to share. He lay on his side, his back pressed to Arthur’s front as Arthur enfolded him in his long red cloak. As they lay together, Merlin felt Arthur’s hand kneading his back, lulling him to sleep. Merlin slid his chilly feet across their makeshift bedroll and touched the warmth of Arthur’s feet with his cold ones. Arthur jerked slightly from the sudden chill.

“Sorry,” Merlin said.

“Mmm…” Arthur whispered, curling a hand around Merlin’s waist. “Can you do something about that?” Arthur’s voice was more curious than demanding.

Merlin turned his head and looked questioningly at Arthur.

“You know,” Arthur said, nudging him with a knee against his legs.

“Oh,” Merlin said. No matter that he now knew Arthur wouldn’t chop off his head or burn him on the pyre, it still filled him with a surprised splash of warmth when Arthur requested that he use magic. 

“Go ahead,” Arthur said, raising his head to watch Merlin’s eyes as he cast.

Without so much as a thought, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. For the first time, he watched the reflection of his magic burning in Arthur’s eyes. A gentle wave of heat coursed over Arthur and Merlin both, warming their woodland bed. Arthur pulled Merlin close and kissed the top of his head while they lay together. He then settled again, sliding his hand to Merlin’s hip, stroking him reassuringly.

“You’ve no idea how many times I did that to warm your sheets for you before you slept in your bed at Camelot,” Merlin whispered.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, pausing his caresses to tuck the cloak around Merlin better. “You were a better manservant than I gave you credit for then.” 

It soothed Merlin to hear Arthur whisper his name as they lay together beneath the inky sky, the flames of the fire dying down to the red glow of coals. Merlin slept in Arthur’s arms, the most peaceful night’s sleep he had gotten since he left Ealdor as a young boy.

When morning came, Merlin was awoken by the Sidhe as they prepared to leave to do battle for Camelot. He struggled out of Arthur’s embrace to watch the fairies emerge from the water with Adaneth in the lead. Teams of tiny flying spirits with razor sharp claws followed him in a chaotic exit from the lake. Next, came the winged carriages loaded with what Merlin presumed were all the Sidhe’s earthly possessions that they would be taking with them to Camelot.

“They’re bringing all that?” Merlin asked, nudging Arthur. “Did you say they could bring _everything they own?”_

Arthur gave Merlin a sleepy grin. “It brought me back to life, didn’t it?” he said, shoving Merlin’s shoulder happily. “Now help me with my armour.”

In the gentle first rays of dawn, Merlin gathered Arthur’s armour from where they had left it the night before. He efficiently dressed his king and prepared him for what would be the most important defence of Camelot they had ever launched. All the while, the Sidhe buzzed through the air overhead and into the lake, getting more provisions for their journey. As Merlin deftly fastened the last of the buckles on Arthur’s pauldron, he noticed Morforwyn swimming in a lonely circle around the perimeter of the lake.

“I need to go talk to him,” Merlin said, touching Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur nodded. “I’ll make sure the Sidhe have all they need for the journey.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to Merlin’s lips before drawing Excalibur and striding into the meadow where a staging area had been set up for the Sidhe’s belongings.

Merlin pulled on his boots and shrugged into his jacket that he had cast aside when he fastened Arthur’s cloak. As he walked to the quiet lake, he couldn’t help but feeling that this would be the last time he would be seeing Morforwyn for a very long time.

“Morforwyn,” he called when he reached the water. “Swim on over here. I want to speak with you.”

The manatee swam gracefully from the deep water to the shallows to greet Merlin. He partially beached himself beside Merlin, splashing him with a spray of water from his flipper. Merlin smiled as he wiped the water from his eyes. He’d miss the manatee’s antics when he returned to Camelot.

“So, we’ll be leaving for the Saxon camp soon,” Merlin said. “I want to ask you to wish us luck, but if we’re successful, you must know that we’ll be returning to Camelot and I don’t know when I’ll see you next.”

“Oh Merlin, I am so happy for you,” Morforwyn said. “I just know that you and Arthur’s allies will protect Camelot from the bad people. I am so proud of you—and Arthur too. I’m so glad I could help you to get your friend back.”

“Thank you so much, for all you’ve done to help me,” Merlin said. “I really wish I could bring you with us back to Camelot. Is there any way?”

Morforwyn laughed and rolled onto his side underwater. “I can keep my head out of the water for a little while, but I’d never be able to survive in the narrow streams and waterways of Camelot. It’s for the best that I stay here where I can swim freely,” he said.

Merlin squatted down so he could pet Morforwyn.

“I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me,” Merlin said. As he stroked Morforwyn’s sleek head, he knew it would make the manatee sad if he cried, so he swallowed hard and held back his tears the best he could.

“It was my pleasure,” Morforwyn said stretching his neck so Merlin could pet a good spot. “I like to help people so they’ll stop being sad. If I helped to get your Arthur back so you wouldn’t be so sad, that’s what makes me happiest.”

“I had the feeling you’d say that,” Merlin said. “Yes, you definitely helped me to get Arthur back—I really can’t believe it’s true, myself—but you’ve also helped me with much more than that.”

“So many things have happened to you since we first met. Look how different you are now from the time when you were sitting by lakeside grieving over Arthur,” Morforwyn said. 

“You’re right,” Merlin said. “I’ve changed with your help. I’ve learned to trust myself and to free myself from what I believed my destiny to be.”

“You’ve learned a lot and you’ve grown. I remember you were so angry with yourself for not being able to save Arthur,” Morforwyn said.

“I used to believe in the words spoken by an ancient dragon,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “But now I understand that they were only words. My future, my destiny, it’s all up to me. Everything has been up to me all along... I just needed to understand that I had the freedom to ignore that old dragon and listen to myself instead.”

“You’ve gotten so smart, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “Please don’t ever be angry because you aren’t perfect at something the first time you try it—like training Aithusa! Remember that change takes time. You are smart and capable. You can do anything. I believe in you.”

“If there’s anything I can ever do for you, Morforwyn,” Merlin said, standing up straight. He wished he could think of something that would ease the manatee’s transition to life alone in the lake. “Please just ask—anything.”

“If you are happy, Merlin, that’s the only favour I need from you,” Morforwyn said. “Things may not have turned out the way you thought they would, but you’re so much wiser now. If you ever find yourself feeling bad, or if anyone tries to tell you things that don’t seem quite right to you, just remember to look for the water and think of your manatee friend, and everything will be just fine.”

“I’ll remember the water because you taught me that the amazing thing about the water is that it always gives us what we need,” Merlin said drying his hand on his jacket.

“That’s right,” Morforwyn said. “And if you ever say bad things about yourself again, please stop! That’s my favourite person you’re talking about. Remember that I love you so much.”

“What’s this about _you_ loving _my_ Merlin?” Arthur asked as he came upon Merlin and Morforwyn at the lakeside.

“Oooh, he _is_ the jealous kind, isn’t he?” Morforwyn asked, splashing the water with his flipper.

Arthur slung one arm over Merlin’s shoulder and blocked the spray of water from Morforwyn with the other.

“I won’t miss that,” Arthur said to Merlin. “Truly, I won’t.”

Merlin speared his fingers through Arthur’s hair, shaking loose the droplets that had landed there. “He means no harm,” Merlin said with a grin. “We were just saying goodbye.”

“Goodbye then, Morforwyn, and thank you for everything, especially all you’ve done for me and Merlin,” Arthur said.

“Goodbye Arthur,” Morforwyn said. “I just know that you’ll become the greatest king ever, after you defeat the Saxons and return to Camelot.”

“Well thank you, Morforwyn,” Arthur said. “I hope you have an enjoyable time here in the lake. There’s sure to be peace and quiet with the Sidhe gone.”

“I’ll miss them a little,” Morforwyn said. “Saying _goodbye_ is always so hard, especially saying goodbye to Merlin. I’ll leave you both now, but I’ll never forget you.”

Merlin slipped his arms around Arthur’s waist as they stood on the shore and watched the manatee swim farther and farther away. Beyond the lakeside, and around the far shore, the morning sun burned off the morning fog, and Morforwyn swam through the shadow of the tower. Merlin wished he could think of something he could do to repay the manatee for his generosity of spirit.

“I came to tell you that Adaneth and the Sidhe army are ready to leave,” Arthur said, giving Merlin a squeeze.

“I’m glad we can rely on their support,” Merlin said, taking Arthur’s hand and leading him away from the lake. “Are you nervous?”

“Merlin, I’ve been trained to kill since birth. I don’t get nervous,” Arthur said.

“I’m so glad that the trauma of your death hasn’t affected your confidence,” Merlin said as they entered the meadow where the Sidhe were ready to take to the air.

“Merlin, where are our horses?” Arthur asked, looking around the lakeside.

“Horses?” Merlin asked.

“You know… large animals that are used for transportation. They sometimes carry men off to battle,” Arthur said demonstrating with his hands on invisible reins.

“Oh, horses?” Merlin said. “I can do better than that. Besides, I haven’t seen my horse since I rained down lightning on the Saxons the first time around. And your horse, Hengroen? I haven’t seen him since the night Morgana planted the magic-stealing Gean Canach in my room—the same night I beat you at dice in the tavern.”

“Merlin! Are you telling me we have no horses? How are we going to get to the Saxon camp? We can’t very well fly like the Sidhe!” Arthur said, looking to the sky. “I promised myself that I wasn’t going to say it, but you… _idiot!”_

Merlin couldn’t help but be amused at Arthur’s frustration. “I thought you said I wasn’t an _idiot_ anymore?” he asked. Striding across the field, Merlin pushed two fingers into his mouth and whistled.

“And since you brought it up,” Arthur continued, “I need to know—were you cheating by using magic when we played dice that night at the tavern? I could swear that you—”

Arthur became speechless when Aithusa emerged from the sky beyond the forest as soon as Merlin whistled. The Sidhe continued their flitting around the meadow putting the finishing touches on their preparations for their journey. They took little notice of the white dragon as he flew over the tallest trees that surrounded the meadow and stumbled to a landing beside Merlin in the autumn grass.

“What is _that?”_ Arthur asked, his eyes wide.

Merlin stepped forward and with a touch of his fingers to Aithusa’s neck, he guided the dragon to where Arthur stood. “Arthur, this is my dragon, Aithusa.”

Arthur gulped, his sword drawn, his eyes keen to enter battle.

“Aithusa, this is Arthur, the king of Camelot—and soon to be the ruler of all Albion,” Merlin said with obvious affection.

“Merlin, is this the same dragon that charged us on the battlefield of Camlann?” Arthur asked, staring Aithusa down. “I’d recognize him anywhere, even without the flames spewing from his mouth.”

“He’s changed a bit since then,” Merlin said, hoping to make Arthur understand. “Morgana had been caring for him, but it’s up to me to train him now. He’s doing beautifully, so far.”

“Train him?” Arthur asked. “You can’t train a dragon. He’s a magical creature, capable of wreaking great destruction.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve trusted me with more daunting tasks than this, haven’t you?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Arthur said, exasperated. “But this—this thing…. It really is a dragon? And you can control it? How do you know it won’t incinerate us or smash us to bits?”

Merlin stepped back to Arthur and took his sword from his hand. He sheathed it in its scabbard and rested his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. His blue eyes met Arthur’s, bright and shining and brilliant. “Trust me,” Merlin said with more confidence than he ever knew he possessed. “I’ve got this.”

Merlin watched the emotion flicker over Arthur’s face. Arthur had no choice but to trust Merlin with the transportation arrangements for this part of their journey—not if he wanted to defeat the Saxons for once and for all and if he wanted to regain the throne of Camelot. He allowed Merlin to help him onto Aithusa’s back. Between hanging onto the dragon’s neck with all his might and complaining loudly about trust and love and having no choice in the matter and not being happy about it, Arthur finally settled on the dragon.

Merlin watched a long line of Sidhe fairies, with Adaneth in the lead, take to the air above the meadow. They circled around Aithusa once, before setting their course for the Saxon’s camp at the crossroads to Ealdor. Merlin climbed onto Aithusa’s back and took his place in front of Arthur.

“No worries,” Merlin said, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t be terrified. He gently guided Arthur’s hands to his hips where he would be sure to have a firm hold.

Arthur closed his eyes and buried his face in Merlin’s neck. “No worries,” Arthur said. “I’ve trusted you for this long, I think I can trust you now.”

“Good,” Merlin said, patting Arthur’s hands reassuringly. He then lowered his head to speak to the dragon directly, hoping that the creature would fly steadily so as not to worry Arthur, “Aithusa, áwegflíeh nu.”

With a few flaps of his wings, Aithusa took to the air and began to follow Adaneth and the Sidhe from the lakeside. They rose above the trees and began to make their way toward the Saxon camp. Merlin felt Arthur’s hands strong around his waist. If the king was worried, he was doing his best hide his fear.

Aithusa joined the procession of Sidhe travellers who flew over the countryside. Merlin turned his head to watch the lake, where he had spent so many of his last days, disappear from view. The water, sparkling and clean—it had given Merlin so much that he had to be grateful for and it would continue to give Morforwyn everything he needed…

“Wait! Aithusa, æthrín!” Merlin said.

“Merlin, where are we going?” Arthur asked as the white dragon banked a turn and descended back toward the lake they had just left. “The Saxon camp is _that_ way.”

“I have something I need to do,” Merlin said, the wind ruffling his hair.

Merlin felt Arthur’s fingers digging into his hips and was glad that Arthur’s confidence in him kept him from questioning their change in direction. He was even more grateful that Aithusa seemed to be following his commands.

Just before Aithusa’s feet touched the earth, Merlin called out, “Wandrae!” to the dragon. He was pleased when Aithusa responded by hovering steadily, only an arm’s length from the yellow grass of the meadow.

“You’ll be fine here, in the air,” Merlin said to Arthur, touching his fingertips to his cheek. “I won’t be but a moment.”

Merlin slid from the dragon’s back, his knees buckling when his feet hit the ground. He scanned the lake for Morforwyn but was relieved that he didn’t see him waiting for him at the shoreline. It would have broken Merlin’s heart to think that Morforwyn had mourned Merlin’s departure so thoroughly that he hoped for his and Arthur’s return already.

Merlin turned his head to make certain Arthur was securely on Aithusa’s back. The king watched him with such confidence that Merlin wondered if Arthur knew his intention. The dragon’s beating wings ruffled the water of the lake and stirred up a breeze that chilled Merlin’s face. Merlin knelt on the shore.

Three days had passed since Merlin had slept on the muddy lakeside, grieving over the loss of his king. Three days were enough time for Merlin to discover that the destiny he believed was intended for him had little to do with what he would have wanted for himself, if only he had been given a choice.

“I _can_ do this for you, Morforwyn… I can give _you_ a choice,” Merlin whispered.

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he raised his fist in the air. “Awecge þá eorðan,” Merlin said as he slammed his fist to the ground.

The air rumbled with the force of Merlin’s power as trees were uprooted and rocks fell from the mountainsides. The earth shifted and white-capped waves roared ashore. As soon as the ground stopped shaking enough so Merlin could get his feet under himself again, he ran to Aithusa. Arthur reached down to grab Merlin’s arm and hauled him atop the dragon’s back again.

“Well done,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin with more admiration than he had ever mustered in the ten years that Merlin was his manservant. “Now let’s go get our kingdom back.”

His chest heaving, Merlin didn’t turn back to watched the slide of boulders and earth as they settled. “Aithusa, áwegflíeh!” he commanded, and held tight to the dragon’s neck.

Together on Aithusa’s back, Merlin and Arthur left the lake at Avalon for the last time. Merlin leaned back to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder as they followed the path of the Sidhe who had blazed through the air ahead of them. It was exhilarating to feel so safe and so wanted in Arthur’s arms. Satisfied with all he had done for the manatee, Merlin would now return the king to Camelot, where he would always stand by his side.

~ ~ ~ 


	7. Chapter 7

History would remember Arthur’s defeat of the Saxons at Camlann as his greatest victory. In reality, it wasn’t much of a ground battle for Arthur. He spent much of the time giving commands to his men from high on the back of the dragon, Aithusa. Beside him, Merlin cast fury from his fingertips upon the enemy.

The Sidhe had arrived undetected to the forest around the Saxon camp. They scattered to the trees, each tiny fairy landing as a gentle breeze upon the leaves, the disturbance insufficient enough to raise the Saxon’s alarm. Merlin guided Aithusa to a nearby ridge where he and Arthur hoped to determine whether the Saxons were on the move for Camelot yet. Merlin wasn’t surprised when they were approached by a scouting party wearing the colours of Caerleon.

“I knew Annis had faith in me,” Merlin said, reaching back to lay a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Hail, King Arthur,” a swordsman cried. “It’s true, as our queen told us it would be—he is returned. I can hardly believe my eyes.”

Arthur swung down from Aithusa’s back and greeted the men as they gathered around the dragon with Merlin still atop his scaly hide.

“I appreciate each and every one of you,” Arthur began. “And I send my warmest regards to your queen. Today, we fight with honour to prevent the Saxon’s attack on the innocent kingdom of Camelot. When we are successful, we will all share in the glory of justice done.”

Merlin beamed at Arthur as he spoke, the men nodding and raising their weapons in agreement with his words. A lump formed in Merlin’s throat when he saw the willingness of the Caerleon army to follow Arthur into battle, risking their lives for this man and the kingdom of peace he promised to deliver.

As quickly as he could, Arthur gathered information from Annis’s men. He learned that armies from Camelot, Nemeth, and Gawant had planned to intercept Cerdic before the Saxons could launch their attack. Rodor had men positioned to the west where they could disarm riders who ventured afield if the Saxons planned to attack Camelot’s western flank. Camelot’s army, led by Leon, Arthur’s first knight, would meet the Saxons head on, supported by Gawant. They had planned to ride from Camelot at dawn and would stop the Saxons where they were met. Godwyn had apparently recognized the value of an alliance with Arthur while he lived, and decided to add his weight to Camelot’s side.

“Godwyn,” Arthur said with surprise when he climbed onto Aithusa’s back. “Looks like he’ll be joining us.”

Merlin chewed his lip and calculated the strength of Camelot’s allies against the decimated Saxons. The battle would likely be won even if the Sarrum of Amata and Alined joined Cerdic in the fray. “Given a choice, most people will choose peace over war,” Merlin said. “They believe in the peace you’ll bring. They believe in you.”

“And you,” Arthur said, leaning forward to whisper in Merlin’s ear.

“Let’s get on with it,” Merlin said, wanting nothing more than for the battle to be over so he could have this man, this king, to himself.

“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur cried.

“Aithusa, áwegflíeh,” Merlin urged the dragon into the air.

On, they soared toward Camelot, finding Leon and the knights as they rode toward the Saxon camp. Aithusa circled low with Merlin and Arthur secure on his back and Arthur’s men whooped in joy when they recognized their king, well and truly alive again. They raised their swords in salute as Aithusa hovered over them on the forest pathway. Merlin was pleased to see that the men had disregarded the fact that magic was still illegal in Camelot. They seemed to greet Arthur’s manservant and Aithusa with the same enthusiasm as they had their king. With the fire-breathing dragon leading the way, Arthur’s men charged the Saxon’s camp, catching them off-guard before they had departed for their assault on Camelot.

The battle began with a blast of dragon fire as Aithusa got Cerdic’s attention, the way only a dragon could.

“Surrender now, Cerdic,” Arthur called from the hovering dragon’s back, “Let the citizens of Camelot live in peace.”

Merlin could tell, even from their height above the Saxon camp, that Cerdic was confounded by Arthur’s appearance when he had been certainly slain by Mordred’s sword. The Saxon king must have believed Arthur to be an apparition because he stamped out the fire with his charred boots and ordered his men to attack.

The clash of sword to shield rang through the countryside as the men fought. The Sidhe went to work under Adaneth’s leadership. The tiny fairies flew into the Saxon’s eyes and blinded them with their sharpened claws, causing the Saxons to lose their advantage in a parry when they tried to swat the winged creatures away.

The Sidhe’s air assault was enhanced by Aithusa’s breath of flames that he used with Merlin’s guidance. Circling above the men, Merlin watched for trouble and defended Arthur’s knights with the unleashing of his own fiery magic against the Saxons. Aithusa swooped low to allow Arthur to communicate with his men on the ground when it was necessary, his great white wings beating in the morning air. Camelot’s army, along with the Sidhe, were joined by forces from Caerleon, Nemeth, and Gawant. All told, Arthur and his allies had the Saxons outnumbered ten to one.

The battle ended quickly with a Saxon retreat after Cerdic was struck down by Leon. Without a leader, those who would have divided Camelot’s wealth among themselves and their allies in Arthur’s absence took to the hills, leaving their battered camp and most of their weapons behind.

Merlin was glad to see that most of Camelot’s army were spared from injury in the brief battle. What wounds needed mending could be healed by Gaius and himself when they returned to Camelot. He shifted his position on Aithusa’s back, turning to congratulate Arthur on the victory when he felt the sharp pang of pain pierce the flesh of his thigh. No one had seen the stray Saxon bolt from a crossbow that had flown through the air to strike him when their battle was all but lost. Merlin didn’t have time to contemplate the final act of Saxon aggression. He instinctively reached to protect the injury from further harm, keeping the lifeblood from gushing out over the empty field of battle. In doing so, he lost his balance upon Aithusa’s back. As he slid over the edge, the dragon’s scales slippery under the worn soles of his boots, Arthur caught his hand.

Merlin dangled there for a fraction of time, suspended over the field of death and destruction.

“Hold tight,” Arthur said, his eyes wild.

“I will,” Merlin said, not daring to adjust for a better grip of Arthur’s leather glove.

“Get down, Aithusa! Down!” Arthur demanded, not knowing how to communicate in Merlin’s dragon speech.

Merlin thought that if he could just ignore the pain in his thigh, he’d be able to summon his magic. His eyes flashed gold, but the slip of sweaty sorcerer fingers against the fine leather of a king’s glove happened too quickly. The next thing Merlin remembered was the sudden jolt of landing on the ground, his body bouncing once with the impact, and Arthur’s voice, screaming, “No!”… and then nothing, for a long, long while.

To Merlin, it seemed like he had been asleep on a rainy morning when he had no chores to do for the king. No polishing of armour, no mucking out the stables, no shining up the brass, he could just lie there in the blissful warmth of his tiny bed in the alcove beside Gaius’s workshop. Through the haze of his dreams, he remembered Arthur commanding Aithusa to return to Camelot. “Your master needs you to carry him home, Aithusa,” Arthur said solemnly, his voice drifting though Merlin’s memory like a tale his mother would have read to him from a storybook.

Percival and Leon had reverently loaded Merlin’s limp body onto Aithusa’s back while Arthur held him secure in his arms. Then, there was the sound of beating dragon wings and a chilly breeze that rushed past Merlin’s ears.

“We’ll be home soon, love,” Merlin remembered Arthur’s whispered promise after the men mounted their horses.

Despite his state of sleep, he still felt sorry that Arthur missed his opportunity to celebrate his victory. It was this sadness that pulled him toward awakening, although he couldn’t yet manage to speak a word.

He never saw the worry in Gaius’s eyes when he watched his apprentice laid on the cot in his workshop. He never felt the press of Gwen’s fingers as she staunched the flow of blood with a strip of fabric she had torn from the sleeve of her own dress. He never heard Arthur’s protests when his men tried to lure him away so he could address the court about his return to life.

But by noon, when Arthur returned to Gaius’s workshop from meeting with his council, Merlin could discern the voices of those who surrounded him. Their words hummed together, sometimes meaninglessly, like the rumble of distant thunder that faded when the sky cleared.

“Just a bump on the head,” Gaius said, assuring Arthur that Merlin would recover quickly.

Although Merlin’s eyes had not yet opened, he imagined Gaius raising an eyebrow when Arthur insisted that the wound to Merlin’s thigh was more dangerous than the jolt of his body hitting the ground.

“He’s lost so much blood,” Arthur said.

“Merlin has withstood far worse than this, Sire,” Gaius said with authority. “And usually it’s been at your expense, if I may dare say. The bolt barely pierced his thigh before it was deflected. As long as the area is kept clean and shows no sign of infection, Merlin should make a complete recovery.”

“I’m so grateful _you_ were here to help him when we returned,” Arthur said warmly.

“It was the least I could do after all he’s been through,” Gwen said, and Merlin could envision Arthur clasping her hand for comfort while they both sat at his side.

“I wish he would awaken,” Arthur complained. “Why is he still sleeping?”

“That’s to be expected,” Gaius said. “He fell a great distance. And from what I understand, if you hadn’t gotten Aithusa to descend when you did, he would have fallen from an even greater height and sustained worse injuries. As it is now, he’s only had the wind knocked out of him. I can find no evidence of broken bones. He just needs to rest.”

“Well, I plan to stay here until he wakes,” Arthur said, resolutely.

“Very well then,” Gaius said, and there was a shuffle of fabric where Merlin imagined him donning his cloak. “As long as you both are here, you may as well make yourselves useful by keeping watch over Merlin. I must deliver these medicines to the others who were injured in battle. I won’t be gone long.”

“Thank you, Gaius. I’ll come find you if there’s any change in his condition,” Gwen said.

The door closed and the air in the room grew heavy with words unsaid.

While Merlin’s body slept in silence, his mind wandered the endless roads of that would bring him back to Arthur. The muffled trickling of a stream at his side reminded him of the manatee whose words guided him now. He followed the path along the shore and stepped into the water as a damp cloth was pressed to his forehead by an unseen hand.

“I can do that,” Arthur said, his hand taking the cloth from Gwen and dipping it in the basin of cool water.

“Very well, but I need to do _something,”_ Gwen said. “I’m so sorry, Arthur. This is completely my fault. If I hadn’t put him in the dungeon, we could have resolved things without it coming to this. And the bump on his head? That was my guard’s doing at _my_ command! I’m truly mortified by my behaviour.”

“He’ll understand that you only meant well,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “It’s his nature to believe the best in everyone. In fact, he told me that he hopes that you will be his friend again _someday.”_

“That makes my heart hurt even worse,” Gwen said with a sob. “How could I have treated him as I did? Merlin… so sweet and guileless. I only hope that he can forgive me.”

Merlin felt Gwen take his hand. The warmth of her palm against his cool skin soothed him. The horizon opened for Merlin as the water lapped against his thighs, the stream’s bottom shifted soft beneath his feet.

“I’m sorry that ruling the kingdom was more of a challenge than anyone could have anticipated,” Arthur said. “But you did the best you could. No one can question that.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Gwen said, her hand gently squeezing Merlin’s. “You maintain everyone’s respect, but are both fair and just at the same time.”

“It’s taken a lifetime of practice,” Arthur said. “More than _one_ lifetime, now. It’s not easy, but with the advice of good counsel it becomes easier.”

Merlin sensed his caregivers’ movement as Arthur clasped Gwen’s shoulder in appreciation.

“What’s taken a lifetime, I’ve ruined in a week,” Gwen lamented.

“That’s nonsense, Gwen,” Arthur said. “Don’t blame yourself. You were only enforcing the laws that had been made for the good of the kingdom. Listen to me—you did your best under very trying circumstances. There’s no shame in that.”

“There were so many things to do, so many partnerships to maintain—so much war,” Gwen said thoughtfully.

“I’m sure Leon’s advice was useful to you,” Arthur said. “He’s a good man.”

“He was a star in all of this, a guiding star,” Gwen said. “Of course I grieved over your death—please don’t be mistaken. Despite our differences, there truly will never be another man like you, another ruler as noble and proud. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t do justice to your legacy.”

“I’m glad to hear that you missed me,” Arthur said with a laugh.

“I did miss you,” Gwen said, her hand leaving Merlin’s.

“You look well,” Arthur said. “Considering all you’ve endured in my absence.”

“It wasn’t _all_ bad,” Gwen said.

“Leon saw to that,” Arthur said.

“Arthur…” Gwen said.

In his slumber, Merlin strode forward, wading deeper. He paused and dipped his shoulders beneath the water. His arms lengthened as he swam each stroke to follow the flow of the stream.

“I’d never suggest it, if I thought it would put Camelot in danger,” Gwen began. “But now we’ve both seen the havoc your death would create, not only for Camelot, but for all of Albion… it gives me a good reason to reconsider my future… our future.”

“Are you willing to abdicate your throne to me, my queen?” Arthur asked, and Merlin could almost see the glint in Arthur’ eye, and hear the relief in his voice.

“If you want to look at it that way,” Gwen said, her laughter echoing in Gaius’s musty workshop as it had done when she was still a girl.

When Merlin’s head surfaced above the water, he heard Gwen’s laughter and remembered how she had welcomed him when he first arrived in Camelot. She had trusted him in friendship and kissed him with affection. They were soon inseparable in their goal to mould Arthur into the great king he was destined to become. Merlin swam toward her voice, hoping he would be joined in friendship with her again.

“Gwen…” Arthur’s voice was serious. “You have long needed more than I can ever give you.”

“You understood what I was proposing, then. You have been so accommodating, to allow me time with Leon,” Gwen said after a while, and Merlin could see her furrowed brow in his sleep. “But with your death, I know now what’s been missing, and I think perhaps you know what has been missing from your life as well.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s fingers as they brushed back the damp hair from his forehead, wet with the moisture from Gaius’s cloth.

“You always were the wisest of my advisors,” Arthur said. “You see me, as no other can.”

“I’ve felt the kind of love we both can have, but I’ll only feel it again when I am free to do so without the fear of hurting you,” Gwen said.

“You know that you can’t hurt me,” Arthur said, his fingers stilling.

“I do know,” Gwen said. “It’s Merlin you want. It always has been. I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. I’d be a fool to stand between you and him. And you’d be a fool to spend another day of your life resisting him.”

Arthur’s fingers trailed over Merlin’s face, slid down his arm, and intertwined with Merlin’s fingers.

“But I married you,” Arthur said. “I do love you.”

“Arthur, this is about our happiness—mine, and yours both. You know that our marriage is in name only. Besides, our marriage ended with your _death._ The people will understand that, even if they question it at first,” Gwen said.

“Guinevere,” Arthur said, and Merlin felt Arthur break contact with him while he touched Gwen’s arm. It was a more intimate touch than Merlin had ever imagined them sharing in their marriage. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to leave you, if this isn’t what you want, no matter that it will free me to love Merlin. You must tell me.”

“Arthur, it would be like asking the sun not to rise, the stars not to shine, to let this marriage keep us both from the one who makes us whole, the one who makes us feel alive, the one who makes us _live._ It’s time to end this, and start anew,” Gwen said.

Merlin launched himself forward, keeping pace with the tide, in pursuit of the freedom that eluded him. He raised his head above the water and sighted his goal lurking just out of reach in the deep water of the ocean that lay ahead.

“You are free,” Arthur said.

“As are you,” Gwen replied. And Merlin heard the touch of their lips, then the rustle of fabric as Gwen stood to leave.

“I’ll expect you in the council chamber tomorrow after breakfast when we welcome Adaneth and the Sidhe to their place at the Round Table,” Arthur said.

“I’ll be there,” Gwen said, walking toward the door. “And with your permission, I’d like to move my belongings out of your chambers as soon as possible. Leon’s quarters are not extravagant, but we will make do.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and then he suddenly added, “but there’s no need for you to live with Leon beside the stables. My father’s old chambers have been vacant for some time now. There would be plenty of room for both of you. I wish you might consider moving there—but only if it would suit you.”

Gwen’s footsteps quickly crossed the stone floor back to Arthur. “You are as generous and noble as I always believed you were.” And then she kissed him again before retreating.

“Gwen?” Arthur said, stopping her.

“Yes?” she replied, raising the latch of the door.

“About Merlin… and me… how did you know?” Arthur asked.

“Really, Arthur…” Gwen began, and Merlin could hear the smile in her voice. “Poetry? Did you ever expect anyone to believe that?”

And then the door closed and Merlin was alone with Arthur again.

“Come now,” Arthur whispered, wringing out the cloth in basin and pressing it to Merlin’s brow. “Did you hear any of what Gwen and I said?”

Merlin focussed on a distant shadow on the horizon, and swam harder to reach it. The pain surged in his thigh as he kicked through the waves.

“Gwen knows that I love you,” Arthur said. “She says we’re free to be together. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You just need to wake up.”

Arthur dabbed the cloth across Merlin’s face, his fingers brushing against his lips. Merlin’s tongue darted out seeking the cloth’s moisture.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked in disbelief. “You’re thirsty… you need water.” Arthur dropped the cloth and poured water from a pitcher into a goblet that Gaius had left at Merlin’s bedside.

Merlin reached for Arthur before he could vanish into the swirling sea.

“Arthur?” Merlin tried to speak, opening his eyes and pulling Arthur’s hand to him. 

“Easy, Merlin,” Arthur said when Merlin’s hands frantically grabbed at the goblet of water he held out him.

“What happened?” Merlin asked. As much as it pained him to tear his eyes away from Arthur, he steadied the cup as it met his lips, his eyes drifting shut as he drank his fill.

“What happened,” Arthur said. “I’ve been worried to _death_ about you.”

Merlin snorted. He watched Arthur go to the door where he instructed a messenger to find Gaius. Then he was back at Merlin’s side, stroking his hair and refilling the goblet with fresh water for Merlin to drink.

“I thought I was dreaming,” Merlin said. “Was Gwen here? I dreamed she wasn’t angry with me anymore.”

“You didn’t dream that,” Arthur said taking the empty goblet from Merlin. “She was here. You must have heard parts of our conversation because you’re right—she’s no longer angry with you.”

“I’m so glad,” Merlin said. “And you’re not angry with me? I held onto your hand as long as I could. And Aithusa—”

“I could never be angry with you,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s hand and pressing kisses to the inside of Merlin’s wrist, the bruises long since faded. “And Aithusa did fine. He’s out by the stables being fed and watered. I think his throat must get awfully dry when he spews out those flames.”

When Gaius returned, he examined Merlin from head to toe and could find nothing wrong with him besides the wound that tore the flesh of his thigh.

“And, that it’s time you had a bath,” Gaius said. “You smell like you’ve been sleeping by the shore at low tide.”

“That’s surprisingly accurate,” Arthur said. “Come along, I’ll have a bath drawn for you in my chambers.”

“Let me get some clothes from my room,” Merlin said, limping toward the alcove. “And I want to tell you about Morforwyn and how he led me back to you. I followed the water like he told me I should. Wait here for me and I’ll tell you more about it.”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to remind him that he can’t tell you what to do?” Gaius asked.

Arthur drummed his fingers against his arm and looked at the ceiling. “No, we’ve moved beyond that,” he replied.

Merlin grinned when he heard Arthur’s words. He was tempted to elaborate on them for Gaius. Instead he picked through the clothes that were strewn on the floor of his alcove. He gave his tunic a sniff and decided that he could leave Gaius to sort out the rest of what had happened between Arthur and him. The idea of a hot bath in Arthur’s chambers sounded wonderful. And spending time alone with Arthur sounded even better.

“But try to avoid getting your bandaging wet,” Gaius called to him as he limped out the door, Arthur supporting him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“I can’t make any promises,” Merlin said. “At least it doesn’t feel too bad right now.”

By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs that led to Arthur’s chamber, he had second thoughts. His thigh ached and he couldn’t wait to take the pain remedy that Gaius had pressed into Arthur’s hand. 

“You should be taking it easy,” Arthur said, taking more of his weight. “I could carry you up?”

“I’m not a girl, Arthur,” Merlin said with disdain. “I can’t very well have you carry me upstairs like you’ve saved a damsel in distress.”

Arthur just shook his head and laughed. Merlin had never seen him so happy, his eyes so bright, his smile so brilliant. Gathering his strength, Merlin limped up the steps with Arthur behind him, ready to save him from breaking his neck if he tumbled down the stairway.

Inside Arthur’s chambers, the bath had already been filled and the fire had been stoked against the autumn chill. Merlin dipped a finger into the bath water and sulked at the lukewarm temperature.

“I figured we’d save time by just using my bath water from this morning,” Arthur said, barring the door behind him. “That way we can have some privacy without servants bustling in with their buckets of hot water.”

“I can reheat it, if that’s what you mean,” Merlin said, remembering all the times he had kept Arthur’s bath water the perfect temperature.

Arthur leaned over and rested his palms on the edge of the tub. “At least I wasn’t very dirty after spending all that time sloshing around in the lake with the Sidhe,” Arthur said.

Merlin turned his head and caught Arthur’s eyes. “Do you want to watch?” he asked.

Arthur straightened and took Merlin into his arms, his eyes flickering over Merlin’s face.

“I’d like that. I remember last night when you warmed our bedroll,” Arthur said. “I think I finally understood that your magic is so much more than evil or good. It’s a part of you—a part of the very fabric of who you are. I could feel it move through you when we touched. I hope you know that I could never rail against magic again.”

“Very well, then,” Merlin said, and after pausing to appreciate the look of adoration on Arthur’s face, his eyes flashed gold.

Steam rose from the water in the tub and the air of Arthur’s chambers was filled with fragrant herbs.

Arthur tilted forward and left a soft kiss on Merlin’s lips.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, then,” Arthur said. “I’ll return soon.”

Merlin watched Arthur unbolt the door, closing it gently behind him. He shucked out of his jacket and sat in a chair to remove his boots, not wanting to add stress to the bandaged wound on his thigh. As he pulled his tunic over his head, he realized that he had never been naked in Arthur’s chambers before. He couldn’t really decide whether he should be feeling shy or not. Of course Arthur had seen him naked countless times before as they bathed while on patrol or jumped into a lake while hunting on a hot summer day, but this was a little different.

He slid his breeches and smallclothes off in one motion, hoping to minimize the pain from his injury. Stepping inside the tub, he soon realized that the wound was close enough to his knee that if he sat with his knee bent just so, he could keep the bandage dry.

He filled the dipper and poured the hot water over his hair and worked out the tangles with his fingers. On the low cupboard beside the tub, he found a cake of Arthur’s favourite soap and used it to scrub the dirt from his hair, leaving it to steep in a white lather.

After scrubbing his skin, he sat back and let the water wash over him. The heat soaked into his muscles and soothed the tender aches he suffered from his fall from Aithusa’s back.

He closed his eyes and let his mind turn over the events of the past days—his realization that he was in love with Arthur, the battle with the Saxons, Arthur’s death and rebirth, being thrown into the dungeons, Kilgharrah’s death, Aithusa returning like a needy child, disagreements with Gwen and Gaius, the acceptance of the Sidhe and the magic that would likely follow—all his decisions and concerns had been eased and calmed by the appearance of the manatee at the lake. Morforwyn had always assured Merlin that he was doing the right thing, even if he wasn’t always successful. Even when Merlin’s plan to raise Arthur from the dead with the horn of Cathbhadh hadn’t worked, Morforwyn had been supportive and had helped him find another way.

He wondered where the manatee was now. Merlin hoped that Morforwyn had found his way toward the freedom Merlin made available to him, if that was what he truly desired. It still seemed strange to Merlin when he considered the differences between what he desired and what he only _thought_ he desired when the great dragon had offered his advice. Merlin supposed the difference was that now his love for Arthur was free to grow without concern for destiny and the great kingdom Arthur might lead. All they had to worry about now was each other and the love that had blossomed between them—no thanks to Merlin’s secret-keeping.

Merlin opened his eyes. The last time he and Arthur were in his chambers together, he was telling Arthur that he couldn’t join him as he prepared for war against Morgana and the Saxons. Arthur had been so disappointed in him. He should have told him about his magic right then, but what good would it have done if he couldn’t use it to help Arthur? He shook his head, glad that the days of keeping his magic a secret were over.

The soft rap of knuckles sounded on the door.

Merlin’s head snapped up and he was relieved to see Arthur returning to him with a tray of food and a jug of watered wine.

“It’s only me,” Arthur said, setting the tray on the table and bolting the door behind him. “I’ve brought food—you must be starving.”

Merlin settled back into the bath and abandoned the idea of being self-conscious about his nakedness. This was Arthur, the same Arthur he had known for years, and the same Arthur he had loved for as long as he could remember, even if he didn’t always realize it at the time. “I am,” Merlin said. “It seems like days since we ate those pear tarts.”

 _”We?”_ Arthur asked, carrying the tray to Merlin. “As I recall, you enjoyed them all for yourself.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said with a smile. He started to get out of the tub, but Arthur stopped him by pulling a chair close to where he soaked.

“Your hair,” Arthur said. “It’s as white as that old man you disguised yourself as.”

“Oh. Did you never recognize me?” Merlin asked. He took a goblet of wine from the tray and sipped some of the liquid down, hoping it would ease some of his pain without the need for Gaius’s remedy that might make him sleep again.

Arthur sat beside him and leaned in close. “I always thought that there was something familiar about him,” he said taking a fingerful of suds from Merlin’s hair. “I just couldn’t put my finger on it.” Merlin went cross-eyed as Arthur deposited the suds from his finger onto his nose.

Then, Merlin watched as Arthur lifted the dipper. He closed his eyes and let Arthur drip the water through his hair, working out the soap with gentle touches of his fingers. Merlin felt truly cherished by the attention Arthur lavished on him. Arthur refilled the dipper and rinsed Merlin’s hair again, not stopping until Merlin was certain that his hair was black and shiny as always.

When Arthur seemed satisfied, Merlin reached for the cupboard beside the tub where he grabbed a sheet of linen.

“You looked like you were deep in thought when I came in,” Arthur said, popping a grape into his mouth before offering one to Merlin. “What were you thinking about?”

Merlin dried his face on the linen and let out a long breath. He looked around the room, the impending sunset lighting the stone walls with a crimson glow. “I was remembering how sorry I was that I had to leave you the last time we were in this room together. I had lost my magic and couldn’t go with you to Camlann.”

“You mentioned that Morgana did that to you,” Arthur said grimly. “I’m so sorry.”

Merlin carefully held onto the edge of the tub and stood. He felt Arthur’s eyes on him as he wrapped himself in the cloth. The droplets of water trickled down his chest.

“Will you stay now?” Arthur asked hopefully, but he glanced away, unsure. Merlin didn’t let it bother him. He had put up with the king’s stunted emotions for most of his adult life. He had no plans to let them subdue the joy in his heart now. There was nothing that could stop him, except maybe one thing. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, brushing the golden hair from his brow and letting his fingers slide down his face until they rested under his chin. He tilted Arthur’s face toward him to force Arthur to meet his gaze. “You’d have to send me to the dungeons in cold iron to make me leave you tonight.”

That earned him a small grin from Arthur, but Merlin wasn’t going to let him stop there. Merlin stepped into Arthur’s embrace, not caring that the linen fell to the floor. The feel of his hot damp skin on Arthur’s dry tunic and breeches made Merlin let out a moan of pleasure. It had been years since he had even dreamed of anyone touching his cock, besides himself. The soft weave of Arthur’s breeches against his skin was too much to keep quiet about and he pressed his hips forward so he could feel it again while Arthur’s hands roamed his naked back.

Merlin felt Arthur’s teeth skim across his sensitive ear lobe. It sent a tingle through Merlin that went straight to his cock, which hardened further as Arthur nipped and licked, his breath warm in Merlin’s ear.

“Listen to you,” Arthur whispered, his lips smiling against Merlin’s neck. “Gaius always said, _one whiff of a barmaid’s apron and you’d be singing like a sailor.”_

“Oh, come now, I’ve only had one sip of wine, and you haven’t heard me sing yet,” Merlin laughed.

“I’m hoping I’ll get to,” Arthur said with a smile.

Emboldened, Merlin’s fingers went to the laces of Arthur’s tunic and he began to loosen their knot. For all his eagerness, Arthur watched him fumble to get the laces undone. Eventually, Merlin gave up on the knot and magicked the knot undone with a flash of gold in his eyes. He hoped that Arthur wouldn’t think it was too forward of him, using magic to help get him naked.

Merlin slipped his hands beneath the hem of Arthur’s tunic, the white one that had always been Merlin’s favourite. Arthur’s muscles contracted at the touch of Merlin’s fingertips as Merlin stripped it from him, letting it land on the floor. Arthur stood before Merlin now as Merlin had seen him dozens of times, with his flat belly and his taut chest with its golden skin and smattering of light hair. Only now, the skin was Merlin’s to touch, the perfect pink nipples were Merlin’s to lick and to suck with a passion that he didn’t know he possessed a week ago.

It was hard to think about any of the events of the past week when Arthur framed Merlin’s face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly. Merlin’s mouth opened under Arthur’s and he welcomed the intrusion of Arthur’s tongue as he slid it against his own, exploring and tasting. When they broke apart for air, Arthur stepped back to kick off his boots, ever mindful of the damp bandaging on Merlin’s thigh that they were trying to keep dry.

“Maybe we should take the bandage off,” Merlin suggested, his half-hard cock vying for more attention than the injury.

“If you think that’s a good idea,” Arthur said. “You’re the physician.”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and led him to his bed. “Sit here,” Arthur said. “Gaius will have your head if your wound starts bleeding again.”

Arthur slid his hands down Merlin’s arms and knelt on the floor in front of him. He untied the bandaged with practiced hands that had tended his mens’ injuries in battle and on the practice field for more years than Merlin cared to think about.

“That doesn’t look so bad,” Merlin said when Arthur pulled the bandage away. He was relieved to see that the injury had already begun to heal without any sign of infection.

“It’s bad enough for me to think that you have ever suffered any injury in the defence of Camelot,” Arthur said, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s knee.

Merlin slid his fingers into Arthur’s golden hair. “But that’s what I do best,” he said. “I defend you.”

Arthur stood and stroked Merlin’s shoulders. He leaned and touched his forehead to Merlin’s. “Still, I think you’d better lie down, to take the strain off it,” Arthur said.

“As an assistant to Camelot’s physician, I think you’re right,” Merlin said.

He let Arthur guide him down into the bedding and he settled amongst the comfortable pillows and blankets that he arranged himself a thousand times. But today, he smiled when he felt the mattress dip beside him and the press of Arthur’s body, warm and naked against his back.

“I’m glad your wound looks like it’s healing,” Arthur said, slipping an arm around Merlin’s waist. “If anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.”

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin said, turning his head to find Arthur’s lips for a kiss. “It hurts, but there’s no need to worry.”

Arthur left a trail of kisses across Merlin’s cheek and down his jaw. “When you were asleep today, and you wouldn’t awaken… it terrified me,” Arthur said.

Merlin rolled onto his back and reached up to stroke Arthur’s hair. “I may have lost you once, but you won’t lose me,” Merlin said.

“You’re everything to me. It’s always been you, even Gwen knew it,” Arthur said. “If I ever lost you…”  
Merlin could tell Arthur was struggling for words, so he did the best thing he could think of and kissed him again.

Arthur’s skin felt warm against Merlin’s, even though Merlin had just come out of the hot bath. He stretched his legs against Arthur’s gently, determined not to disturb his healing thigh.

“We’ll have to move slowly,” Arthur said, stilling Merlin with a hand on his bare hip.

“I am moving slowly,” Merlin said, lazily kissing Arthur again.

With a flash of his magic, Merlin ignited the wicks of the candles that littered the table, the nightstand and the shelf beside the bed. Arthur propped himself up on one elbow to look at Merlin and Merlin smiled when Arthur looked impressed.

“How could I never have known?” Arthur asked, running his hand from Merlin’s hip to his chest.

“I was very good at keeping it a secret,” Merlin whispered. The sensation of Arthur’s fingers on his naked body made Merlin want to drag Arthur on top of him, to rut against him until he came.

“I want to touch you,” Arthur said.

Merlin had no complaint. He dragged Arthur’s hand down his chest and keened loudly when Arthur’s fingers wrapped around his hard cock. He felt Arthur’s smile against his neck and it made him flush with warmth when Arthur tugged at him awkwardly, his left hand working the slick out of him while Merlin bucked into his hand.

“What?” Arthur asked, playfully nipping at Merlin’s earlobe.

“It feels so strange,” Merlin said, before a short huff of laughter escaped his chest.

Arthur’s hand stilled and he stopped breathing in Merlin’s ear.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, “Do you mean to tell me that in all these years no one has ever taken you?”

The candles stuttered in the silence.

Merlin reached down to grasp Arthur’s hand where it was touching him. “What I lack in experience, I make up for in enthusiasm,” Merlin said hopefully, pulling Arthur’s head back to his shoulder with his other hand.

“You’re sure you want this?” Arthur asked softly, moving his hand in tandem with Merlin’s.

Merlin closed his eyes, not wanting to reveal any uncertainty, in case it was there. In truth, he could think of no better way to surrender his virtue.

“Arthur, please...” Merlin whined, squeezing his hand tighter and urging Arthur to move faster.

“Show me, Merlin,” Arthur whispered encouragingly into Merlin's ear. “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone in your bed.”

Merlin turned his head to capture Arthur's lips with his own, but Arthur was gone. He had crawled down the bed to occupy the space between Merlin’s legs.

“Tell me what you think about,” Arthur said, his breath hot against the paper-thin skin of Merlin’s balls.

“I think of you fucking me,” Merlin said, louder than he meant to.

Merlin spread his legs wider as Arthur flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin. 

“You’re beautiful, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, gently pushing his shoulder under Merlin’s knee to lift his leg and protect his injury. “As beautiful as I always imagined you to be.”

Merlin felt like he was going to burst from the pleasure of it, Arthur’s voice, his hands, his tongue. He slung his forearm across his mouth to keep himself from crying out.

Arthur's fingers crept lower, petting the soft skin that had never been touched before. When he brushed his fingertips over Merlin’s hole, Merlin gasped.

“The oil,” Merlin whispered, squeezing his cock so he wouldn’t come too soon. “I read about it in one of Gaius’s books.”

Arthur shuffled across the bed and reached into the nightstand drawer for the oil that Merlin knew he used on himself from time to time.

“You’re sure?” Arthur whispered, more serious than Merlin had ever heard him speak before.

Merlin nodded, lost in the feeling of Arthur’s fingers, slow and certain as they worked him open. He felt like a fool for never understanding before how good it would feel to have Arthur ministering to his body’s every need. When he was gasping for breath and pushing back onto Arthur’s fingers, Arthur slid forward to press his thighs against Merlin’s. He paused and let his gaze roam over Merlin’s face.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I’m going to be spent before we’ve started.”

When Arthur pushed his cock inside him, it was slow and only a tiny bit painful, but Merlin could take it. He had slain an evil priestess and brought a king back from death. He had commanded dragons and befriended a manatee. He had let his magic run free and had given himself to the man he loved. This was nothing, compared to all those things.

Arthur carefully gripped Merlin’s trembling thighs as they moved together, his eyes scanning Merlin’s face for any sign of discomfort. Merlin dug his fingernails into Arthur’s forearms and bit down on his bottom lip, wanting to prolong the feeling of being utterly adored for as long as he could, but it was hopeless.

With one final push, a shout of pleasure was ripped from Merlin’s lungs as his seed coated his chest, his magic flaring and spiraling from his fingertips with his bliss. The flicker of magicglow seemed to spur Arthur on. His hands tightened their grip and he let out a breathless whine that lasted for ages as he spent himself inside Merlin.

When Arthur opened his eyes again, he looked with wonder at the sparkles of magic that swirled through his bedchamber like feathers from a pillowfight.

After mopping up the mess and kissing Merlin again, Arthur flopped onto his back. “Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” he asked, pulling Merlin close.

“I didn’t know you wanted to,” Merlin said, diving for Arthur’s lips again. He flinched in dismay when Arthur lightly cuffed the back of his head.

“Idiot,” Arthur said, his breath ghosting Merlin’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Merlin asked.

“You’ve kept your promise,” Arthur said, nuzzling into the space beneath Merlin’s ear.

“Which promise was that?” Merlin asked.

Arthur drew back and scanned Merlin’s face. In the quiet candlelight of the king’s bedchamber, Merlin thought Arthur’s eyes took on their own magical light.

“When I asked you to keep being you,” Arthur said, pressing another kiss to Merlin’s lips. “You’ve done it. You’re insolent, argumentative, outspoken, you commit treason at least once every day, and you spend far too much time in the tavern.”

“You love me,” Merlin protested, stroking Arthur’s calf with the toes of one foot.

“I do,” Arthur said. “What are we going to do about that?”

“We could do it again,” Merlin said.

And so they did.

In the days that followed, Arthur regained his kingdom and the respect of all the people of Albion. A feast was held to honour those who fell in the battle with the Saxons and Morgana. Of all the king’s knights, none was remembered with more honour or gratitude than the noble and brave Sir Gwaine.

As a favour to Merlin, Gwen arranged for Hunith to live at the court. In Hunith, Arthur finally had what he had always wanted and never thought he would have, a mother’s love. 

With the help of the Sidhe, magic was reinstated in the realm and magic users lived and worked alongside those who remembered the time when magic was outlawed through the land. With Merlin at his side, Arthur brought Camelot into its golden age.

And somewhere in the depths of the open sea, a manatee smiled.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the_muppet for running Paperlegends and making it look so easy, to my fantastic and talented artist- patria_mori, to lawgoddess for her excellent beta work, to gilli_ann- the best cheerleader ever, to the charming Human Typist of the Calming Manatee meme whose words of encouragement and hope I have borrowed extensively here, also to my team of special helpers on whose support I confidently rely: stagarden, archaeologist_d, sandscrit, and bronctastic, and of course to the amazing anon prompter who had the foresight to leave this incredible prompt—Hey girl, you got this!  
> Swimming with the Sidhe was written for [Paperlegends: The Merlin Big Bang](http://paperlegends.livejournal.com/) and as a fill for [this](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/33344.html?thread=35530304) prompt.


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